MONSIEUR ET MADEMOISELLE.
Deux petits enfants Francais,
Monsieur et Mademoiselle.
Of what can they be talking, child?
Indeed I cannot tell.
But of this I am very certain,
You would find naught to blame
In that sweet French politeness—
I wish we had the same.
Monsieur has got a melon,
And scoops it with his knife,
While Mademoiselle sits watching him:
No rudeness here—no strife:
Though could you listen only,
They're chattering like two pies—
French magpies, understand me—
So merry and so wise.
Their floor is bare of carpet,
Their curtains are so thin,
They dine on meagre potage, and
Put many an onion in!
Her snow-white caps she irons:
He blacks his shoes, he can;
Yet she's a little lady
And he's a gentleman.
O busy, happy children!
That light French heart of yours,
Would it might sometimes enter at
Our solemn English doors!
Would that we worked as gaily,
And played, yes, played as well,
And lived our lives as simply
As Monsieur et Mademoiselle.
