SONGS OF LA MOUCHE
Frau Mathilde's Parrot.
Up five long flights my poet lies,
Inch by inch his body dies;
No ray of sunshine lights the gloom
Within that solitary room;
No loving hands upon him wait,
He lies alone from dawn till late;
Each groan of pain, each lonely sigh
Is answered by a parrot's cry.
Inch by inch his body dies;
No ray of sunshine lights the gloom
Within that solitary room;
No loving hands upon him wait,
He lies alone from dawn till late;
Each groan of pain, each lonely sigh
Is answered by a parrot's cry.
There, when the winter's fitful light
Faded with on-coming night,
His loneliness would find relief
In taunting my too timid grief;
With song and story grave and gay
He'd chase his gloomy ghosts away—
With many a bitter jest defy
The world's malignant parrot-cry.
Faded with on-coming night,
His loneliness would find relief
In taunting my too timid grief;
With song and story grave and gay
He'd chase his gloomy ghosts away—
With many a bitter jest defy
The world's malignant parrot-cry.
But when to quiet my despair
At some rude word, he smoothed my hair,
And stooped to kiss my faded cheek,
All the thoughts I dared not speak
Surged in a tempestuous tide
Of wayward tears—I could not hide
The love I'd striven to deny,
And shivered at that parrot's cry.
At some rude word, he smoothed my hair,
And stooped to kiss my faded cheek,
All the thoughts I dared not speak
Surged in a tempestuous tide
Of wayward tears—I could not hide
The love I'd striven to deny,
And shivered at that parrot's cry.
Paris, 1855.
46
