MONSEIGNEUR PLAYS

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte —

Within her gilded chair the Queen

Listens, her rustling maids between;

A very tulip-garden stirred

To hear the fluting of a bird;

Faint sunlight through the casement falls

On cupids painted on the walls

At play with doves. Precisely set

Awaits the slender legged spinet

Expectant of its happy lot,

The while the player stays to twist

The cobweb ruffle from his wrist.

A pause, and then — ( Ah, whisper not )

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte —

Hark,‘ tis the faintest dawn of Spring,

So still the dew drops whispering

Is loud upon the violets;

Here in this garden of Pierrettes’

Where Pierrot waits, ah, hasten Sweet,

And hear; on dainty, tripping feet

She comes — the little, glad coquette.

“Ah thou, Pierrot?” “Ah thou, Pierrette?”

A kiss, nay, hear — a bird wakes, then

A silence — and they kiss again,

“Ah, Mesdames, have you quite forgot —”

( So laughs his music. ) “Love's first kiss?

Let this note lead you then, and this

Back to that fragrant garden-spot.”

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte —

Ah, hear — in that last note they go

The little lovers laughing so;

Kissing their finger-tips, they dance

From out this gilded room of France.

Adieu! Monseigneur rises now

Ready for compliment and bow,

Playing about his mouth the while

Its cynical, accustomed smile,

Protests and, hand on heart, avers

The patience of his listeners.

“A masterpiece? Ah, surely not.”

A grey-eyed maid of honour slips

A long stemmed rose across her lips

And drops it; does he guess her thought?

Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.