The Triolet.

Le premier jour du mois de mai Fut le plus heureux de ma vie: Le beau dessein que je formai, Le premier jour du mois de mai! Je vous vis et je vous aimai. Si ce dessein vous plut, Sylvie, Le premier jour du mois de mai Fut le plus heureux de ma vie.

Moi, je regardais ce cou-là. Maintenant chantez, me dit Paule. Avec des mines d'Attila Moi, je regardais ce cou-là. Puis, un peu de temps s' écoula ... Moi, je regardais ce cou-là; Maintenant chantez, me dit Paule.

"Mon fils, Absalon Absalon, mon fils, Las! perdu l'avon Mon fils Absalon; Il faut que soyon En grief deuil confis Mon fils Absalon Absalon, mon fils!"

She's neither scholarly nor wise, But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender, And love lies laughing in her eyes. She's neither scholarly nor wise, And yet above all else I prize The right from evil to defend her. She's neither scholarly nor wise, But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender.

When first we met, we did not guess That Love would prove so hard a master; Of more than common friendliness When first we met we did not guess. Who could foretell the sore distress, This irretrievable disaster, When first we met?-we did not guess That Love would prove so hard a master.

All women born are so perverse, No man need boast their love possessing, If nought seem better, nothing's worse; All women born are so perverse, From Adam's wife that proved a curse, Though God had made her for a blessing. All women born are so perverse No man need boast their love possessing.

'Twas a Jacqueminot rose That she gave me at parting; Sweetest flower that blows, 'Twas a Jacqueminot rose. In the love garden close, With the swift blushes starting, 'Twas a Jacqueminot rose That she gave me at parting. If she kissed it, who knows- Since I will not discover, And love is that close, If she kissed it, who knows? Or if not the red rose Perhaps then the lover! If she kissed it, who knows, Since I will not discover. Yet at least with the rose Went a kiss that I'm wearing! More I will not disclose, Yet at least with the rose Went whose kiss no one knows,- Since I'm only declaring, "Yet at least with the rose Went a kiss that I'm wearing."

Wee Rose is but three, Yet coquettes she already. I can scarcely agree Wee Rose is but three, When her archness I see! Are the sex born unsteady?- Wee Rose is but three, Yet coquettes she already.

A pitcher of mignonette In a tenement's highest casement; Queer sort of a flower-pot-yet That pitcher of mignonette Is a garden in heaven set To the little sick child in the basement,- The pitcher of mignonette In the tenement's highest casement.

In the light, in the shade, This is time and life's measure: With a heart unafraid, In the light, in the shade, Hope is born and not made, And the heart finds its treasure In the light, in the shade; This is time and life's measure.

Away from city chafe and care, At forty miles an hour flying, Nor let the train me, blasé, bear Away from city chafe and care. To breezy braes, from street and square, Who would not, an he could, be hieing; Away from city chafe and care, At forty miles an hour flying? How nice a month on moors to pass Mid purling becks and purpling heather, To give the grouse their coup de grâce, How nice a month on moors to pass! If Fortune prove a liberal lass, If but auspicious be the weather, How nice a month on moors to pass, Mid purling brooks and purpling heather. Plague take the rain! upon my word, These mountain mists, how they do hover! I wish from town I'd never stirred. Plague take the rain! upon my word, 'Tis just my luck, and not a bird My guileless gun contrives to cover. Plague take the rain! upon my word, These mountain mists, how they do hover.

Rose kissed me to-day, Will she kiss me to-morrow? Let it be as it may, Rose kissed me to-day. But the pleasure gives way To a savour of sorrow;— Rose kissed me to-day,— Will she kiss me to-morrow?

In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar:- O, they fish with all nets, In the School of Coquettes! When her brooch she forgets, 'Tis to show her new collar; In the School of Coquettes Madam Rose is a scholar!

There's a tear in her eye,- Such a clear little jewel! What can make her cry? There's a tear in her eye. "Puck has killed a big fly,— And it's horribly cruel;" There's a tear in her eye,— Such a clear little jewel!

Here's a present for Rose, How pleased she is looking! Is it verse? Is it prose? Here's a present for Rose! "Plats," "Entrees" and "Rôts,"— Why, its "Gouffé on Cooking!" Here's a present for Rose, How pleased she is looking!

I intended an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet, It began à la mode, I intended an Ode; But Rose crossed the road In her latest new bonnet. I intended an Ode, And it turned to a Sonnet.

Oh, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle! See the couples advance,— Oh! Love's but a dance! A whisper, a glance,— 'Shall we twirl down the middle?' Oh, Love's but a dance, Where Time plays the fiddle!

Happy, my Life, the love you proffer, Eternal as the gods above; With such a wealth within my coffer, Happy my life. The love you proffer,— If your true heart sustains the offer,- Will prove the Koh-i-noor of love; Happy my life! The love you proffer, Eternal as the gods above!

Easy is the Triolet, If you really learn to make it! Once a neat refrain you get, Easy is the Triolet. As you see!-I pay my debt With another rhyme. Deuce take it, Easy is the Triolet, If you really learn to make it!

Out from the leaves of my "Lucille" Falls a faded violet. Sweet and faint as its fragrance, steal Out from the leaves of my "Lucille" Tender memories, and I feel A sense of longing and regret. Out from the leaves of my "Lucille" Falls a faded violet.

In the days of my youth I wooed woman with sonnets. My ideas were uncouth In the days of my youth. Now I know that her ruth Is best reached by new bonnets; In the days of my youth I wooed woman with sonnets.

Here's a flower for your grave, Little love of last year; Since I once was your slave, Here's a flower for your grave; Since I once used to rave In the praise of my dear, Here's a flower for your grave, Little love of last year.

Lo, my heart, so sound asleep, Lady! will you wake it? For lost love I used to weep, Now my heart is sound asleep, If it once were yours to keep, I fear you'd break it. Lo! my heart, so sound asleep, Lady, will you wake it?

Myrtilla, to-night, Wears Jacqueminot roses, She's the loveliest sight! Myrtilla, to-night:- Correspondingly light My pocket-book closes. Myrtilla, to-night Wears Jacqueminot roses.

Wee shallop of shimmering gold! Slip down from your ways in the branches. Some fairy will loosen your hold- Wee shallop of shimmering gold Spill dew on your bows and unfold Silk sails for the fairest of launches! Wee shallop of shimmering gold, Slip down from your ways in the branches.

You ask me what's a kiss? 'Tis Cupid's keenest arrow! A thing to take a "miss"- (You ask me what's a kiss?) The brink of an abyss! A lover's pathway, narrow. You ask me what's a kiss? 'Tis Cupid's keenest arrow!

You know it is late, And the night's growing colder, Still you lean o'er the gate. You know it is late, There's a fire in the grate, Ah! sweetheart, be bolder. You know it is late, And the night's growing colder.

Under the sun There's nothing new; Poem or pun, Under the sun, Said Solomon, And he said true. Under the sun There's nothing new.

Why is the moon Awake when thou sleepest? To the nightingale's tune Why is the moon Making a noon When night is the deepest? Why is the moon Awake when thou sleepest?

Few in joy's sweet riot Able are to listen: Thou, to make me quiet, Quenchest the sweet riot, Tak'st away my diet, Puttest me in prison- Quenchest joy's sweet riot That the heart may listen.

Spring sits on her nest, Daisies and white clover; And young love lies at rest In the Spring's white nest, For she loves me best, And the cold is over; Spring sits on her nest, Daisies and white clover.

In his arms thy silly lamb Lo! he gathers to his breast! See, thou sadly bleating dam, See him lift thy silly lamb! Hear it cry, "How blest I am!- Here is love and love is rest," In his arms thy silly lamb See him gather to his breast!

I was very cold In the summer weather; The sun shone all his gold, But I was very cold- Alone, we were grown old, Love and I together!- Oh, but I was cold In the summer weather!

Sudden I grew warmer, When the brooks were frozen:- "To be angry is to harm her," I said, and straight grew warmer. "Better men, the charmer Knows at least a dozen!"- I said, and straight grew warmer, Though the brooks were frozen.

Spring sits on her nest- Daisies and white clover; And my heart at rest Lies in the spring's young nest: My love she loves me best, And the frost is over! Spring sits on her nest- Daisies and white clover!

If I should steal a little kiss, Oh, would she weep, I wonder? I tremble at the thought of bliss,- If I should steal a little kiss! Such pouting lips would never miss The dainty bit of plunder; If I should steal a little kiss, Oh, would she weep, I wonder?

He longs to steal a kiss of mine— He may, if he'll return it: If I can read the tender sign, He longs to steal a kiss of mine; "In love and war"—you know the line Why cannot he discern it? He longs to steal a kiss of mine— He may if he'll return it.

A little kiss when no one sees, Where is the impropriety? How sweet amid the birds and bees A little kiss when no one sees! Nor is it wrong, the world agrees, If taken with sobriety. A little kiss when no one sees, Where is the impropriety?

Warm from the wall she chose a peach, She took the wasps for councillors; She said, "Such little things can teach;" Warm from the wall she chose a peach; She waved the fruit within my reach, Then passed it to a friend of hers:— Warm from the wall she chose a peach, She took the wasps for councillors.

This kiss upon your fan I press, Ah! Saint Nitouche, you don't refuse it, And may it from its soft recess, This kiss upon your fan I press Be blown to you a shy caress By this white down whene'er you use it; This kiss upon your fan I press, Ah! Saint Nitouche, you don't refuse it.

To kiss a fan! What a poky poet! The stupid man To kiss a fan, When he knows that—he—can, Or ought to know it. To kiss a fan! What a poky poet!

If you never write verses yourself, Dear reader, I leave it with you, You will grant a half-inch of your shelf, If you never write verses yourself. It was praised by some lenient elf, It was damned by a heavy review; If you never write verses yourself, Dear reader, I leave it with you.

Ices—Programmes—Lemonade! 'E thinks 'e's a Hirving, my eye! Why, Pussy, you're crying: afraid? Ices—Programmes—Lemonade! It's the first time you've seen a piece played? Its pretty, but, Pussy, don't cry. Ices—Programmes—Lemonade! 'E thinks 'e's a Hirving, my eye!

I killed her? Ah, why do they cheer? Are those twenty years gone to-day? Why, she was my wife, sir, dear-so dear. I killed her? Ah, why do they cheer? ... Ah hound! He was shaking with fear, And I rushed—with a knife, they say.... I killed her? Ah, why do they cheer? Are those twenty years gone to-day?

Down 'Ob'n, sir? Circus, Bank, Bank! 'Ere's a huproar, my bloomin', hoff side! A flower, miss? Ah, thankee, miss, thank- Down 'Ob'n, sir? Circus, Bank, Bank! 'Igher up! 'Ullo, Bill, wot a prank! If that 'ere old carcase aint shied! Down 'Ob'n, sir? Circus, Bank, Bank! 'Ere's a huproar, my bloomin', hoff side!

Fine Violets! fresh Violets! come buy! Ah, rich man! I would not be you. All spring-time it haunts me, that cry:- Fine Violets! fresh Violets! come buy! Whose loss if she tell me a lie? "They're starving; my God, sir, it's true." Fine Violets! fresh Violets! come buy! Ah, rich man! I would not be you!

Cigar lights! yer honour? Cigar lights? May God forget you in your need. Ay, damn you! if folks get their rights (Cigar lights! yer honour?-cigar lights) Their babies shan't starve in the nights For wanting the price of your weed- Cigar lights! yer honour? Cigar lights! May God forget you in your need!

Since I am her's and she is mine We live in Love and fear no change! For Love is God, so we divine. Since I am her's and she is mine, In some fair love-land far and fine, Through golden years our feet shall range. Since I am her's and she is mine, We live in Love and fear no change. Why dost thou look so pale, my Love? Why dost thou sigh and say Farewell? "These myrtles seem a cypress grove." Why dost thou look so pale, my Love? "I hear the raven, not the dove, And for the marriage-peal, a knell." Why dost thou look so pale, my Love? Why dost thou sigh and say Farewell? "Since I can never come again, When I am dead and gone from here, Grieve not for me; all grief's in vain, Since I can never come again; But let no thought of me remain. With my last kiss give thy last tear, Since I can never come again, When I am dead and gone from here." All the night and all the day I think upon her lying dead, With lips that neither kiss nor pray All the night nor all the day. In that dark grave whose only ray Of sun or moon's her golden head, All the night and all the day I think upon her lying dead. Why should I live alone, Since Love was all in vain? My heart to thine is flown- Why should I live alone? Dost thou too make thy moan, In Paradise complain: Why should I live alone, Since Love was all in vain? What can heal a broken heart? Death alone, I fear me, Thou that dost true lovers part, What can heal a broken heart? Death alone, that made the smart, Death, that will not hear me. What can heal a broken heart? Death alone, I fear me.

I saw a snowflake in the air When smiling May had decked the year, And then 'twas gone, I knew not where,— I saw a snowflake in the air, And thought perchance an angel's prayer Had fallen from some starry sphere; I saw a snowflake in the air When smiling May had decked the year.

The sermon was long And the preacher was prosy. Dou you think it was wrong? The sermon was long, The temptation was strong, Her cheeks were so rosy. The sermon was long And the preacher was prosy.

She was cargo and crew, She was boatswain and skipper, She was passenger too Of the Nutshell canoe; And the eyes were so blue Of this sweet tiny tripper! She was cargo and crew, She was boatswain and skipper!

How I bawled "Ship, ahoy!" Hard by Medmenham Ferry! And she answered with joy, She moved like a convoy, And would love to employ A bold pilot so merry. How I bawled "Ship, ahoy!" Hard by Medmenham Ferry!

'Neath the trees gold and red In that bright autumn weather, When our white sails were spread O'er the waters we sped- What was it she said? When we drifted together! 'Neath the trees gold and red In that bright autumn weather!

Ah! the moments flew fast, But our trip too soon ended! When we reached land at last, And our craft was made fast, It was six or half-past- And Mama looked offended! Ah! the moments flew fast, But our trip too soon ended.

I saw her shadow on the grass That day we walked together. Across the field where the pond was I saw her shadow on the grass. And now I sigh and say, Alas! That e'er in summer weather I saw her shadow on the grass That day we walked together!

Hope bowed his head in sleep: Ah me and wellaway! Although I cannot weep, Hope bowed his head in sleep. The heavy hours creep: When is the break of day? Hope bowed his head in sleep, Ah me and wellaway!

The sea on the beach Flung the foam of its ire. We watched without speech The sea on the beach, And we clung each to each As the tempest shrilled higher And the sea on the beach Flung the foam of its ire.

When Love is once dead Who shall awake him? Bitter our bread When Love is once dead His comforts are fled, His favours forsake him. When Love is once dead Who shall awake him?

Love is a swallow Flitting with spring: Though we would follow, Love is a swallow, All his vows hollow: Than let us sing, Love is a swallow Flitting with spring.

A poor cicala, piping shrill, I may not ape the Nightingale, I sit upon the sun-browned hill, A poor cicala, piping shrill When summer noon is warm and still, Content to chirp my homely tale; A poor cicala piping shrill, I may not ape the Nightingale.

Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint, He will not leave our hearth again: So safely lulled his murmuring plaint, Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint; All clasped and bound in fond constraint, And circled with a shining chain, Love's footsteps shall not fail nor faint, He will not leave our hearth again.

Your rose-red bonds are all in vain, If bound Love weep for weariness: His faded eyes are drowned in rain. Your rose-red bonds are all in vain, He murmurs low a dull refrain, And turns his lips from our caress- Your rose-red bonds are all in vain If bound Love weep for weariness!

That grey, last day we said goodbye Makes winter weather in my heart; Dull cloud wreaths veiled our summer sky That grey, last day we said goodbye And loosed faint love; I wonder why (For then, in truth, 'twas well to part) That grey, last day we said goodbye Makes wintry weather in my heart.

The roses are dead, And swallows are flying: White, golden, and red, The roses are dead; Yet tenderly tread Where their petals are lying. The roses are dead, And swallows are flying.

You've spoken of love, And I've answered with laughter; You've kissed—my kid glove. You've spoken of love. Why! powers above? Is there more to come after. You've spoken of love And I've answered with laughter. Her lips were so near That—what else could I do? You'll be angry, I fear, Her lips were so near. Well, I can't make it clear Or explain it to you. Her lips were so near That—what else could I do?

My love of loves—my May, In rippling shadows lying, Was sleeping mid the hay— My love of loves—my May! The ardent sun was trying To kiss her dreams away! My love of loves—my May, In rippling shadows lying. I knelt and kissed her lips, Sweeter than any flower The bee for honey sips! I knelt and kissed her lips,— And as her dark eyes' power Awoke from sleep's eclipse, I knelt and kissed her lips, Sweeter than any flower! The pair of gloves I won, My darling pays in kisses! Long may the sweet debt run— The pair of gloves I won! Till death our loves dismisses This feud will ne'er be done— The pair of gloves I won, My darling pays in kisses!

O the apples rosy-red! O the gnarled trunks grey and brown, Heavy-branchèd overhead! O the apples rosy-red! O the merry laughter sped, As the fruit is showered down! O the apples rosy-red! O the gnarled trunks grey and brown! O the blushes rosy-red! O the loving autumn breeze! O the words so softly said! O the blushes rosy-red, While old doubts and fears lie dead, Buried 'neath the apple-trees! O the blushes rosy-red! O the loving autumn breeze! O the years so swiftly fled! O twin hearts that beat as one, With a love time-strengthenèd! O the years so swiftly fled! O the apples rosy-red, That still ripen in the sun! O the years so swiftly fled! O twin hearts that beat as one!