"When I wore red shoes!" Ah me!Simple as the words may be,Yet these simple words can bringThe peacock feather of Time's wing,And flutter it before my eyesIn all its vivid pristine dyes.What were Cinderella's slippersTo my pair of fairy trippers?No heart gives such ecstatic thumpsIn spur-deck'd boots or perfum'd pumps,As mine did when I strutted outTo show my fine, red shoes about.Most truly then my tiny toesWalk'd in a path "couleur de rose,"As, marching forth, I sought the street,My head fill'd, choke-full, with my feet.Proud and happy thing was I,Amid the world's enchanted views;When hair and sash-ends used to fly,And I wore red shoes.
How they used to flit and shineO'er the chalky zig-zag line,As with Taglioni treadI moved where "Hop Scotch" maps were spread!How rich their contrast as they pliedIn kicks on Pincher's jetty side;Till "tantrums" made it hard to traceWhich were the reddest, shoes or face!Oh, Pincher! Pincher! it was youThat shared the scolding and "to-do,"When I had join'd their strings to deckYour dear, old apoplectic neck.Sock and buskin—out upon them!Let the crook-back Richards don them:I remember wearing socksThat gave severer tragic shocks;That won a fame by no means fickle—A fame I stood no chance to lose;When I acted "Little Pickle"Stamping in red shoes.
Mentors dubb'd me "stupid child,"Idle, careless, rude, and wild;As they labour'd to instilMystic hornpipe and quadrille.How I used to fling and floutThrough "Ladies' Chain" to "put them out;"And took vast pains to "balancez"In any but the proper way!Red shoes, red shoes, what heavy raps,Under the name of "gentle taps,"Fell on your bright, morocco skinsTo punish my provoking sins!Who cared? Not I. Next moment foundMe where the ball and rope went round;And sermons, scoldings, slaps, and school,Were soon immersed in Lethe's pool.I'll own my steps were sometimes pester'd,But nothing left the gall or bruise;The thorn might wound, but never fester'd,When I wore red shoes.
The Roman in his sandall'd pride,Gazing upon the Tiber's tide,Ne'er met such glory in his wayAs I on some "spring, showery day,"When splashing through the puddle floodInto a paradise of mud;Till some intrusive voice was heardWith startling tone and angry word;Exclaiming "Mercy! who would chooseSuch place to walk—look at your shoes!"Red shoes, how well ye served to flingIn "Hunt the Slipper's" fairy ring!When "blouzed and thump'd" on head and legs,I fear'd no "Miss Amelia Skeggs;"But scream'd and shouted, clutch'd and claw'd,Uncheck'd, unruly, and unawed;And bounced about like "my man John,"With one shoe off and one shoe on.What though a tear might sometimes fall,And dim the lustre of their hues;It form'd a rainbow, after all,Dissolving round red shoes.
Red shoes, red shoes, ye bore me wellThrough ferny copse and greenwood dell;When I career'd in childhood's day"Over the hills and far away."Now ye went boldly dashing throughThe russet heath still charged with dew;Now in the orchard ye would beClimbing the fine, old cherry-tree;Now ye would tramp the grass about,To find the scatter'd filberts out;And now beneath broad boughs ye stopp'd,To see if plums or pears had dropp'd.Anon, ye scamper'd hard and fastAfter the blue moth flitting past;Keeping the chase with restless might,Till quickset barrier check'd your flight.Red shoes, red shoes, ye come in dreams,When fond and busy Fancy teems:Ye fill Life's simplest page I own,But Memory has turn'd it down.Ye come with "old familiar faces"—Ye come with all I cared to lose:I wake—and count the empty placesSince I wore red shoes.
