Dandyism — Comte Robert de Montesquiou-Fézensac:Étude

[Verse 1] Color, cloth, design— each measure weighed, each line aligned. I hone the beauty to the collar’s seam; I make myself a work of art. [Verse 2] A suit of finest cashmere embraces the clean line of my frame. My lean silhouette, the cut of the cloth— each lends the other its grace. The frock coat, a muted ash-brown; the waistcoat, a deeper shade. From across the room, they seem one color; come closer—watch the contrast bloom. [Chorus] Color, cloth, design— each measure weighed, each line aligned. I hone the beauty to the collar’s seam; I make myself a work of art. [Verse 3] Raven-black hair, sleek with a sheen as though the night had touched it. Moustache and brows, not a hair out of place; I meet my own gaze in the glass. A broad black cravat, softly wound, loosely curling, smooth and slow— like cigar smoke rising through the hush of a midnight room. [Verse 4] A flash of color at the cuff: tonight, turquoise—bright enough to wake the eye, a drop of dew on a hydrangea in the dark. My cane’s handle, porcelain blue, bears a distant Eastern air. That faraway hue answers the glint that waits for me at my wrist. [Verse 5] A gentleman reveals no skin. Goatskin gloves fit close as breath. The soft leather draws the eye to every movement of my slender hand. [Bridge] The scent of night intoxicates the tender heart; all senses blur—the nose believes it hears. The singular stirs me; the strange enchants me. To them, the commonplace is an apocalyptic hydra. [Final Chorus] Color, cloth, design— each measure weighed, each line aligned. I hone the beauty to the collar’s seam; I make myself a work of art. The gloves are on. The blue cane waits. A glass rings softly beyond the door. I step into the amber night— myself, my own masterpiece.