Think of me as you will, dear girl, if you will let
me be
Somewhere enshrined within the fane of your pure
memory;
Think of your poet as of one who only thinks of
you,
That you ARE all his thought, that he were happy
if he knew--
You DID receive his gift, and say
(Ma bayadere aux yeux de jais)
"He thinks of me to-day."
And this is the second:
She drew me from my cosy seat,
She drew me to her cruel feet,
She whispered, "Call me Sally!"
I lived upon her smile, her sigh,
Alas, you fool, I knew not I
Was only her pis-aller.
The jade! she knew her business well,
She made each hour a heaven or hell,
For she could coax and rally;
She was SO loving, frank and kind,
That no suspicion crost my mind
That I was her pis-aller.
My brother says "I told you so!
Her conduct was not comme il faut,
But strictly comme il fallait;
She swore that she was fond and true;
No doubt she was, poor girl, but you
Were only her pis-aller."
He asked me what I would like him to give me for a birthday
present, and I said:
"If you want to give me pleasure, take me down to your father's
country house for a Saturday to Monday."
This Lionel arranged; and he and I went down to Aldworth,
Haslemere, together from London.
While we were talking in the train, a distinguished old lady got
in. She wore an ample black satin skirt, small black satin
slippers in goloshes, a sable tippet and a large, picturesque lace
bonnet.
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