Explore "To a Soubrette" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; / And yet -- ah, yet, how swift and tender / My thoughts go back in time's dull track / To you, sweet pink of female gender! / I shall not say -- though others may -- / That time all human joy enhances; / But the same old thrill comes to me still / With memories of your songs and dances.
Soubrettish ways these latter days / Invite my praise, but never get it; / I still am true to yours and you -- / My record's made, I'll not upset it! / The pranks they play, the things they say -- / I'd blush to put the like on paper, / And I'll avow they don't know how / To dance, so awkwardly they caper!