MY LISETTE
To blind, and poor, and crippled,
Who gives, without regret,
Her bread, and does not sorrow
That she must starve to-morrow?—
Tis my darling, my Lisette,—
Little pet!—
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
Who oftentimes deceives me,
Though truly no coquette,—
And then, for me, who hoaxes,
Cajoles, and dupes, and coaxes?—
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,—
Little pet!—
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
Who, by her tender teaching,
Has aided me to get
The impudence and passion
Of which my songs I fashion?—
'Tis my darling, my Lisette,-
Little pet!—
'Tis Lisette whom I adore,
And with reason, more and more!
On week-days and on Sundays,
Who, in my hovel set,
Can turn its corners gloomy
To a palace rich and roomy?—
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