PARIS DAY BY DAY: A FAMILIAR EPISTLE

Paris, half Angel, half Grisette,

I would that I were with thee yet,

Where the long boulevard at even

Stretches its starry lamps to heaven,

And whispers from a thousand trees

Vague hints of the Hesperides.

Once more, once more, my heart, to sit

With Aline's smile and Harry's wit,

To sit and sip the cloudy green,

With dreamy hints of speech between;

Or, may be, flashing all intent

At call of some stern argument,

When the New Woman fain would be,

Like the Old Male, her husband, free.

The prose-man takes his mighty lyre

And talks like music set on fire!

The while the merry crowd slips by

Glittering and glancing to the eye,

All happy lovers on their way

To make a golden end of day —

Ah! Café truly called La Paix!

Or at the pension I would be

With Transatlantic maidens three,

The same, I vow, who once of old

Guarded with song the trees of gold.

O Lady, lady, Vis-à-Vis,

When shall I cease to think of thee,

On whose fair head the Golden Fleece

Too soon, too soon, returns to Greece —

Oh, why to Athens e'er depart?

Come back, come back, and bring my heart!

And she whose gentle silver grace,

So wise of speech and kind of face,

Whose every wise and witty word

Fell shy, half blushing to be heard.

Last, but ah! surely not least dear,

That blithe and buxom buccaneer,

Th’ avenging goddess of her sex,

Born the base soul of man to vex,

And wring from him those tears and sighs

Tortured from woman's heart and eyes.

Ah! fury, fascinating, fair —

When shall I cease to think of her!

Paris, half Angel, half Grisette,

I would that I were with thee yet,

But London waits me, like a wife,—

London, the love of my whole life.

Tell her not, Paris, mercy me!

How I have flirted, dear, with thee.