A BIT OF COLOR

Oh, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot,

With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so,

Pray what should I do

When a girl like you

Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh

On the first fond fool that is passing by,

Who listens and longs as the sweet words flow

From her pretty red lips at the Porte Maillot?

There were lips as red ere you were born,

Now wreathed in smiles, now curled in scorn,

And other bright eyes

With their truth and lies,

That broke the heart and turned the brain

Of many a tender, lovelorn swain;

But never, I ween, brought half the woe

That comes from the lips at the Porte Maillot.

A charming picture, there you stand,

A perfect work from a master's hand!

With your face so fair

And your wondrous hair,

Your glorious color, your light and shade,

And your classic head that the gods have made,

Your cheeks with crimson all aglow,

As you wait for a lover at the Porte Maillot.

There are gorgeous tints in the jeweled crown,

There are brilliant shades when the sun goes down;

But your lips vie

With the western sky,

And give to the world so rare a hue

That the painter must learn his art anew,

And the sunset borrow a brighter glow

From the lips of the girl at the Porte Maillot.

Come, tell me truly, fair-haired youth,

Do her eyes flash love, her lips speak truth?

Or does she beguile

With her glance and smile,

And burn you, spurn you all day long

With a Circe's art and a Siren's song?

Ah! would that your foolish heart might know

The lie in the heart at the Porte Maillot!