The Vanishing Figure

1 
Helen Montfaucon, nee Snape, 
  Moved me to passionate love—
Hers was a figure of exquisite shape,
  Hers was the voice and the eye of a dove.
2 
Wholly untinted her face, 
  Wholly ungilded her hair—
She held pearl—powder and rouge a disgrace 
  She it was told me so. Hence my despair!
3 
No, neither powder of rice,
  Rouge nor bronzed locks were her line,— 
Hers was a figure of rarest device
  Perfect in contour—Milosian,  divine.
4 
What was it happened? Who knows? 
  I can but faintly suggest—
Maybe in waltzing I held her too close 
  Close to the violets pinned on my breast.
5 
There was a pin 'neath the flowers, 
  Something went off with a gasp—
Sighed like a sibillant gas–jet. Great Powers! 
  Helen Montfaucon grew lean in my clasp.
6 
Shrivelled, shrank, dwindled, went small, 
  Said that the room was too hot—
Fled from the cloak–room, and fled from the ball. 
  I saw her going. Her figure was not!
7 
There are advertisements. Yes. 
  Can they mean anything? No.
Say, was it possible ... Helen's ball dress 
  Hid ought less solid than Helen below?

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