As calm as babe in bassinette,

She swingeth in the summer breeze,

A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.

She ponders o'er a novelette;

Her parasol is Japanese;

She loves to smoke a cigarette.

She loves a fume without a fret;

Her frills are white, her frock cérise,—

A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.

She almost goes to sleep, and yet,