La Grisette

To keep the vulgar out;
Ah, Clemenxe! when I saw thee last
We 've nothing in the world to do,
Trip down the Rue de Seine,
But just to walk about;
And turning, when thy form had pass'd,
So faster, now, you middle men,
I said, "We meet again," —
And try to beat the ends: —
I dream'd not in that idle glance
It's pleasant work to ramble round
Thy latest image came,
Among one's honest friends.
And only left to memory's trance
Here, tread upon the long man's toes,
A shadow and a name.
He sha'n't be lazy here;
The few strange words my lips had taught
And punch the little fellow's ribs,
Thy timid voice to speak;
And tweak that lubber's ear;
Their gentler sighs, which often brought
He's lost them both; don't pull his hair,
Fresh roses to thy cheek;
Because he wears a scratch,
The trailing of thy long, loose hair
But poke him in the farther eye,
Bent o'er my couch of pain,
That is n't in the patch.
All, all return'd, more sweet, more fair;
Hark! fellows, there's the supper-bell,
And so our work is done;
O, had we met again!
I walk'd where saint and virgin keep
It's pretty sport, — suppose we take
The vigil lights of Heaven,
A round or two for fun!
I knew that thou hadst woes to weep,
If ever they should turn me out,
And sins to be forgiven;
When I have better grown,
I watch'd where Gejtevieye was laid,
Now, hang me, but I mean to have
I knelt by Mabt's shrine,
Beside me low, soft voices pray'd;
Alas! but where was thine?
A treadmill of my own!