The Doll’s Wooing
The little French doll was a dear little doll
Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses;
Her eyes were of hue
A most delicate blue
And dark as the night were her tresses;
Her dear little mouth was fluted and red,
And this little French doll was so very well bred
That whenever accosted her little mouth said:
“Mamma! mamma!”
The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg,
Had once been a handsome young fellow,
But now he appeared
Rather frowzy and bleared
In his torn regimentals of yellow;
Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay
In the little toy cart near the window one day
And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say:
“Mamma! mamma!”
He listened so long and he listened so hard
That anon he grew ever so tender,
For it’s everywhere known
That the feminine tone
Gets away with all masculine gender!
He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest,
But all she’d reply to the love he professed
Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed):
“Mamma! mamma!”
Her mother—a sweet little lady of five—
Vouchsafed her parental protection,
And although stockinet
Wasn’t blue-blooded, yet
She really could make no objection!
So soldier and dolly were wedded one day,
And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way,
I’m sure that I heard a wee baby voice say:
“Mamma! mamma!”