Etchings in Verse (Underhill)/Madeleine

by Andrew Findlay Underhill

LISETTE.

WE worshiped each other,
 Both I and Lisette:
 She was French—a grisette.
No sister, nor brother
Had we not another
 Claimed me or Lisette.

We grew up together,
 Both I and Lisette—
 She was fair, this grisette.
Thro' clear, and dark weather
We loved on together,
 Myself and Lisette.

My age five-and-twenty,
 And a score for Lisette,
 She sighs with regret.
Rich suitors are plenty,
And jewels, at twenty,
 Are worlds to Lisette.

My heart was the jewel
 I gave to Lisette—
 So freely!—and yet,
With hands cold and cruel,
She flung down the jewel,
 And crushed it, Lisette.

I've heard that the Devil
 Throws dice for Lisette;
 Her dark hair is wet
With the wine of the revel,
And the Duke—or the Devil—
 Laughs loud with Lisette.

I should have been wedded
 E'er this to Lisette;
 But she's gone, my grisette.
Was it true love she dreaded—
And faith—when she wedded,
 With shame, lost Lisette?

She drives in her carriage,
 "Madame," once Lisette.
 Transformed from grisette
To "Madame" without marriage,
Ah, me! is your carriage
 Worth that, my Lisette!