Eugene Field

Sept. 2, 1850 - Nov. 4, 1895


Little Mistress Sans-Merci

by Eugene Field

Little Mistress Sans-Merci
Fareth world-wide, fancy free:
Trotteth cooing to and fro,
And her cooing is command --
Never ruled there yet, I trow,
Mightier despot in the land.
And my heart it lieth where
Mistress Sans-Merci doth fare.

Little Mistress Sans-Merci --
She hath made a slave of me!
Go, she biddeth, and I go --
Come, and I am fain to come --
Never mercy doth she show,
Be she wroth or frolicsome,
Yet am I content to be
Slave to Mistress Sans-Merci!

Little Mistress Sans-Merci
Hath become so dear to me
That I count as passing sweet
All the pain her moods impart,
And I bless the little feet
That go trampling on my heart:
Ah, how lonely life would be
But for little Sans-Merci!

Little Mistress Sans-Merci,
Cuddle close this night to me,
And the heart, which all day long
Ruthless thou hast trod upon,
Shall outpour a soothing song
For its best belovéd one --
All its tenderness for thee,
Little Mistress Sans-Merci!


With Trumpet And Drum
Copyright 1892, by Mary French Field
New York, Charles Scribner's Sons
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