Mildred

MY lady Mildred tells me oft
That she is mistress now of me,
Her voice is very sweet and soft,
But, ah, an autocrat is she.

Go, say the red lips, and I go,
Come, and I hasten to her side,
Her warm smile sets my heart aglow,
Her quaintness is my joy and pride.

I used to say in phrases fine
That I was master of myself,
The proud boast is no longer mine;
I’m subject to a wilful elf.

My Mildred with the rose-leaf face,
A tyrant spirit sways your breast,
For humbly though I sue your grace,
You will not grant a moment’s rest.

I’ve served you for a whole long year—
The woman new has come to stay—
But tell me, now, have you no fear
That I will mutiny some day.

You give yourself a lofty air,
Your throne an ill-used father’s knee—
Now worry fly, slink off dull care,
I have my girl, and she has me.

My lady Mildred without doubt,
Your tender eyes are full of mirth,
And by and by, your laugh rings out,
The gladdest sound in all the earth.