A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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LAST YEAR'S DOLL. |
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 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
36
LAST YEAR'S DOLL.
I'm only a last year's doll!
I thought I was lovely and fair—
But alas for the cheeks that were rosy,
Alas, for the once-flowing hair!
I'm sure that my back is broken,
For it hurts me when I rise!
Oh, I'd cry for every sorrow,
But I've lost out both my eyes.
I thought I was lovely and fair—
But alas for the cheeks that were rosy,
Alas, for the once-flowing hair!
I'm sure that my back is broken,
For it hurts me when I rise!
Oh, I'd cry for every sorrow,
But I've lost out both my eyes.
In comes my pretty mistress,
With my rival in her arms,
A fine young miss, most surely,
Arrayed in her borrowed charms!
My dress and my slippers, too,
But sadder, oh, sadder than all,
She's won the dear love I have lost,
For I'm only a last year's doll.
With my rival in her arms,
A fine young miss, most surely,
Arrayed in her borrowed charms!
My dress and my slippers, too,
But sadder, oh, sadder than all,
She's won the dear love I have lost,
For I'm only a last year's doll.
Oh, pity me, hearts that are tender,
I'm lonely and battered and bruised,
I'm tucked out of sight in the closet,
Forgotten, despised and abused!
I'm only a last year's doll,
Alone with my troubled heart,
Sweet mistress, still I love thee,
Inconstant though thou art.
I'm lonely and battered and bruised,
I'm tucked out of sight in the closet,
Forgotten, despised and abused!
I'm only a last year's doll,
Alone with my troubled heart,
Sweet mistress, still I love thee,
Inconstant though thou art.
February 12th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |