The Lips of Ages

Down thro' the ages these same sticks
Have played on man their knavish tricks.
   Down thro' the ages these false lips
   Have been as blessings or as whips
To scourge poor man to actions rash
In waging wars or wasting cash.
   Down thro' the years, when Adam grieves,
   Look to those painted lips of Eve's.

Once, modesty suggested stealth
In simulating glowing health;
   But now, alas, no shame restrains
   Toilets performed in trams, in trains,
At table; for these candid days
Make nothing of the frank displays
  Of carmine, lard and lanoline
  To make plain Jane a beauteous queen.

Down thro' the ages pig and sheep
Have tribute paid that men might weep
   Or laugh or love or go quite mad
   Because of lips in grease-paint clad.
Down thro' the years, when heroes fall
Look not for mortal wound at all -
   Seek on his brow the thin red line
   Of carmined lips - Eve's fatal sign.