Than that same Nude to spy.

She lived unseen. Though some few fakes
Pretended her to see;
But if she's on the stairs, it makes
No difference to me.

Mr. Longfellow fairly let himself go:

The picture's done! And the staircase
Falls like the crash of night.
And the Nude is wafted downward
Like a catapult in flight.

There's a feeling of strange emotion
That is not akin to art;
And resembles a picture only
As a Tartar resembles a tart.

Such art has power to rouse
Our laughter at any time,
And comes like electrocution
That follows after crime.

And Mr. Bunner's poetic gem has a charm all its own:

It was an old, old, old, old lady,
On a staircase at half-past three;
And the way she was painted together
Was beautiful for to see.

She wasn't visible any,
And the staircase, no more was he;
For it was a Cubist picture
With a feeling of deep skewgee.

'Twas a symbol of soul expression,
Though you'd never have known it to be!
That emotional old, old lady
On a staircase at half-past three.

Mr. Wordsworth treated the subject boldly, thus:

She was a phantom of a fright
When first she burst upon my sight;
A Cubist apparition meant
To symbolize a Nude's descent.
Her eyes like soft-shell crabs aflare
Like loads of brick her dusky hair;
And all things else about her drawn
As by one coming home at dawn.
A fearsome shape, an image fierce,
To haunt, to startle, and to pierce.
I saw her upon nearer view,
Like a symbolic oyster stew;
A countenance in which did meet
The paving blocks from some old street;
The staircase, floating fancy-free,
With steps of Cubic liberty.
A perfect lady, nobly built,
Constructed like a crazy quilt.
Or a volcano on a spree,
Or herd of elephants at tea.
The staircase, by a bombshell wrecked,
With something of a burst effect.

What do you think of A. Dobson's triolet:

Oh, see the Nude
Descend the Stair!
Fear not, oh, prude,
To see the Nude;
For by the rood,
She isn't there!
Oh, see the Nude
Descend the Stair!

Of course, no one is a sweeter poetess than Miss A.A. Proctor:

Seated one day at my easel,
I was hungry and somewhat faint,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the tubes of paint.

I know not what I was drawing,
Or what I was painting there,
But I splotched a Cubic Symbol!
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