My little Friend, so small and neat, Whom years ago I used to meet In Pall Mall daily; How cheerily you tripp’ d away
To work, it might have been to play, You tripp’ d so gaily. And Time trips too.— This moral means, You then were midway in the teens
That I was crowning: We never spoke, but when I smil’ d At morn or eve, I know, dear child, You were not frowning.
Each morning when we met, I think, Some sentiment did us two link — Nor joy, nor sorrow: And then at eve, experience-taught,
Our hearts fell back upon the thought,— We meet to-morrow! And you were poor; and how? and why? How kind to come! it was for my
Especial grace meant! Had you a parlour next the stars, A bird, some treasur’ d plants in jars, About your casement?
You must have dwelt au cinquième, Like little darling What’ s-her-name,— Eugène Sue’ s glory: Perchance, unwittingly, I’ ve heard
Your thrilling-toned Canary-bird From that fifth storey. I’ ve seen some changes since we met; A patient little seamstress yet,
With small means striving, Have you a Lilliputian spouse? And do you dwell in some doll’ s house? — Is baby thriving?
Can bloom like thine — my heart grows chill — Have sought that bourne unwelcome still To bosom smarting? The most forlorn — what worms we are!—
Would wish to finish this cigar Before departing. I sometimes to Pall Mall repair, And see the damsels passing there;
But though I try to Obtain one glance, they look discreet, As though they’ d someone else to meet,— As have not I too?
Yet still I often muse upon Our many meetings — come and gone! July — December! Now let us make a tryste, and when,
Dear little soul, we meet again, In some serener sphere, why then — Thy Friend remember!
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