  IN a mansion grand, just over the way, Lives bonny, beautiful Dell; You may have heard of this lady gay, For she is a famous belle. I live in a low cot opposite, You never have heard of me; For when the lady moon shines bright, Who would a pale star see? But ah, well, ah, well! I am happier far than Dell, As strange as that may be. Dell has robes of the richest kind— Pinks and purples and blues. And she worries her maid and frets her mind To know which one to choose. Which shall it be now, silk or lace? In which will I be most fair? She stands by the mirror with anxious face, And her maid looks on in despair. Ah, well, ah, well! I am not worried, you see, like Dell, For I have but one to wear. Dell has lovers of every grade, Of every age and style; Suitors flutter about the maid, And bask in her word and smile. She keeps them all, with a coquette’s art, As suits her mood or mirth, And vainly wonders if in one heart Of all true love has birth. Ah, well, ah, well! I never question myself like Dell, For I know a true heart’s worth. Pleasure to Dell seems stale and old, Often she sits and sighs; Life to me is a tale untold, Each day is a glad surprise. Dell will marry, of course, some day After her belleship is run; She will cavil the matter in worldly way And wed Dame Fortune’s son. But, ah, well, sweet to tell, I shall not dally and choose like Dell, For I love and am loved by—one. |
|
