The Fainting Couch Poem by Al. McCartan

A southern belle when just a girl
Would live life in a giddy whirl
And should the vapors overtake
To the fainting couch she’d make.

At every party or every ball
In every parlor and every hall
Should a sweet lady feel so low
It’s to the fainting couch she’d go.

The smelling salts always on hand
A servant, there to wave a fan.
It was a Southern Belle’s delight
To sway and swoon, least once a night.

A pretty maid would cast her eye
Upon a beau and she would try
To win his heart and I can vouch
She’d head slowly to the fainting couch.

She’d bat her eyes and then her hand
Up to her forehead it would land
She’d utter up a plaintive cry
Then on the fainting couch she’d lie.

Then of course the gallant beau
To the hostess he would go and,
To that lady he would say.
Miss Belle has fainted clear away.

The hostess with a knowing smile
Would tell the beau to bide awhile
She’d fetch the smelling salts post haste
No, not a moment she would waste.

The day our Belle became a bride
She’d view her presents and with pride
Observe a brand new fainting couch
For pride of place in her new house