| |
| A MINISTER offers me gold! | |
| Not a creature, of course, to be told, | |
| Not a word to appear in the press! | |
| My wants are but few, to be sure, | |
| And yet, when I think of the poor, | 5 |
| I long to be rich, I confess! | |
| |
| With the poor, as the world is aware, | |
| Stars and ribands one cannot well share, | |
| But gold is a different thing! | |
| Yes, just for a hundred francs down | 10 |
| I’d cheerfully pawn both my crown | |
| And my sceptre, if I were king! | |
| |
| When money does come in my way, | |
| It goes the next moment astray, | |
| How and where I can’t really explain; | 15 |
| My pocket is cursed with a hole | |
| Which my grandmother, excellent soul, | |
| All her days would have stitched at in vain! | |
| |
| All the same, my good friend, keep your gold! | |
| In my teens, if the truth must be told, | 20 |
| Proud Freedom I fervently woo’d; | |
| Yes, I, who have vaunted in song | |
| Lax loveliness all my life long, | |
| Am wedded in fact to a prude! | |
| |
| Ay, Liberty, Sir, you must learn, | 25 |
| Is a bigot inflexibly stern, | |
| Who, heedless of time and of place, | |
| Directly the tinsel she spies | |
| On Servility’s livery, cries, | |
| “Away with the rascally lace!” | 30 |
| |
| Your dross she an insult would deem! | |
| But, frankly, how came you to dream | |
| Of attempting to treat with my muse? | |
| As it is, I’m at least a good “sou,” | |
| But lacquer me over, and you | 35 |
| Make me counterfeit ev’n among “sous.” | |
| |
| Keep your pelf; I’m no hero, I fear, | |
| But if the world happens to hear | |
| Of this secret you think so profound, | |
| You’ll know whence the story has sprung— | 40 |
| My heart’s like a lyre newly strung, | |
| One touch, and you make it resound! | |
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