You were so full of a subtle file,
You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
You were everything men admire,
And there were no fetters to make us tire,
For you were—a pretty grisette.
But you loved, as only such natures can,
With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.
They have ceased singing that old duet,
Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.
"You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
And qu' avez vous, dearest, your lids are wet,"
Maud says, as she leans o'er me.
And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
"Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."
"I LOVE THEE; THEE ALONE"
LITTLE QUEEN.
Do you remember the name I wore—
The old pet-name of Little Queen—
In the dear, dead days that are no more,
The happiest days of our lives, I ween?
For we loved with that passionate love of youth
That blesses but once with its perfect bliss—
A love that, in spite of its trust and truth,
Seems never to thrive in a world like this.