| |
| ’T IS years, soubrette, since last we met; | |
| And yet—ah, yet, how swift and tender | |
| My thoughts go back in time’s dull track | |
| To you, sweet pink of female gender! | |
| I shall not say—though others may— | 5 |
| That time all human joy enhances; | |
| But the same old thrill comes to me still | |
| With memories of your songs and dances. | |
| |
| Soubrettish ways these latter days | |
| Invite my praise, but never get it; | 10 |
| I still am true to yours and you— | |
| My record’s made, I’ll not upset it! | |
| The pranks they play, the things they say— | |
| I’d blush to put the like on paper, | |
| And I’ll avow they don’t know how | 15 |
| To dance, so awkwardly they caper! | |
| |
| I used to sit down in the pit | |
| And see you flit like elf or fairy | |
| Across the stage, and I’ll engage | |
| No moonbeam sprite was half so airy; | 20 |
| Lo, everywhere about me there | |
| Were rivals reeking with pomatum, | |
| And if, perchance, they caught your glance | |
| In song or dance, how did I hate ’em. | |
| |
| At half-past ten came rapture—then | 25 |
| Of all those men was I most happy, | |
| For bottled-beer and royal cheer | |
| And têtes-à-têtes were on the tapis. | |
| Do you forget, my fair soubrette, | |
| Those suppers at the Café Rector,— | 30 |
| The cosy nook where we partook | |
| Of sweeter cheer than fabled nectar? | |
| |
| Oh, happy days, when youth’s wild ways | |
| Knew every phase of harmless folly! | |
| Oh, blissful nights, whose fierce delights | 35 |
| Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy! | |
| Gone are they all beyond recall, | |
| And I—a shade, a mere reflection— | |
| Am forced to feed my spirit’s greed | |
| Upon the husks of introspection! | 40 |
| |
| And lo! to-night, the phantom light, | |
| That, as a sprite, flits on the fender, | |
| Reveals a face whose girlish grace | |
| Brings back the feeling, warm and tender; | |
| And, all the while, the old-time smile | 45 |
| Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,— | |
| As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet | |
| Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled! | |
| |
