A wealth of blue-black hair,
And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette;
A face it were wiser I should forget.

We were back--well, no matter when or where;
But you remember, I know, Lisette.
I saw you, dainty and debonair,
With the very same look that you used to wear
In the days I should forget.
And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.

Two small slippers with big rosettes
Peeped out under your kilt skirt there,
While we sat smoking our cigarettes
(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets')
And singing that self-same an,
And between the verses, for interlude,
I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.

You were so full of a subtle file,
You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
You were everything men admire,
And there were no fetters to make us tire,
For you were--a pretty grisette.
But you loved, as only such natures can,
With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.

* * * * *