What Was, What Is Poem by james watkin

It dawns on Mam'selle, with snap of locket
Her existence to prettify.
With sudden floral silks' distension -
Whose not this plainer held up sky!

It falls on Madam, in a hem's dragging
Honour of the realm to uphold.
As something to blush the wind down -
Which rude blowing is this untold!

Serene, before her stooping court, The World.
Coy, in old Parisian sense with
Esteem of eligibleness -
Revive, phantom of times. Forthwith!