Babette
My Lady is dancing so lightly,
The belle of the Embassy Ball;
I lied as I kissed her politely,
And hurried away from it all.
I'm taxiing up to Montmartre,
With never a pang of regret,
To toy for awhile with the garter
Of her whom I know as Babette.
My Lady's an exquisite creature,
As rare as a queen on a throne;
She's faultless in form and in feature,
But oh, she is cold as a stone.
And so from her presence I hurry,
Her iciness quick to forget
In sensuous joy as I bury
My face in the breast of Babette.
She's only a flower of the pavement;
With Paris and Spring in her eyes;
Yet I who foresaw what the grave meant
Of passion behold with surprise,
When she greets me as gay as a linnet,
Afar from life's fever and fret
I'm twenty years younger the minute
I enter the room of Babette.
The poor little supper she offers
Is more than a banquet to me;
A different bif-tik she proffers,
Pommes frit and a morsel of Brie;
We finish with coffee and kisses,
Then sit on the sofa and pet . . .
At the Embassy Mumm never misses,
But pinard's my drink with Babette.
Somehow and somewhere to my thinking,
There's a bit of apache in us all;
In bistros I'd rather be drinking,
Than dance at the Embassy Ball.
How often I feel I would barter
My place in the social set,
To roam in a moonlit Montmartre,
Alone with my little Babette.
I'm no longer young and I'm greying;
I'm tailored, top-hatted, kid-gloved,
And though in dark ways i be straying,
It's heaven to love and beloved;
The passion of youth to re-capture. . . .
My Lady's perfection and yet
When I kiss her I think of the rapture
I find in the charms of Babette -
Entwined in the arms of Babettte.
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
Room 6: The Little Workgirl
Three gentlemen live close beside me --
A painter of pictures bizarre,
A poet whose virtues might guide me,
A singer who plays the guitar;
And there on my lintel is Cupid;
I leave my door open, and yet
These gentlemen, aren't they stupid!
They never make love to Babette.
I go to the shop every morning;
I work with my needle and thread;
Silk, satin and velvet adorning,
Then luncheon on coffee and bread.
Then sewing and sewing till seven;
Or else, if the order I get,
I toil and I toil till eleven --
And such is the day of Babette.
It doesn't seem cheerful, I fancy;
The wage is unthinkably small;
And yet there is one thing I can say:
I keep a bright face through it all.
I chaff though my head may be aching;
I sing a gay song to forget;
I laugh though my heart may be breaking --
It's all in the life of Babette.
That gown, O my lady of leisure,
You begged to be "finished in haste."
It gives you an exquisite pleasure,
Your lovers remark on its taste.
Yet . . . oh, the poor little white faces,
The tense midnight toil and the fret . . .
I fear that the foam of its laces
Is salt with the tears of Babette.
It takes a brave heart to be cheery
With no gleam of hope in the sky;
The future's so utterly dreary,
I'm laughing -- in case I should cry.
And if, where the gay lights are glowing,
I dine with a man I have met,
And snatch a bright moment -- who's going
To blame a poor little Babette?
And you, Friend beyond all the telling,
Although you're an ocean away,
Your pictures, they tell me, are selling,
You're married and settled, they say.
Such happiness one wouldn't barter;
Yet, oh, do you never regret
The Springtide, the roses, Montmartre,
Youth, poverty, love and -- Babette?
That blond-haired chap across the way
With sunny smile and voice so mellow,
He sings in some cheap cabaret,
Yet what a gay and charming fellow!
His breath with garlic may be strong,
What matters it? his laugh is jolly;
His day he gives to sleep and song:
His night's made up of song and folly.
poem by Robert William Service
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Lady lorgnette
I
Lady Lorgnette, of the lifted lash,
The curling lip and the dainty nose,
The shell-like ear where the jewels flash,
The arching brow and the languid pose,
The rare old lace and the subtle scents,
The slender foot and the fingers frail,--
I may act till the world grows wild and tense,
But never a flush on your features pale.
The footlights glimmer between us two,--
You in the box and I on the boards,--
I am only an actor, Madame, to you,
A mimic king 'mid his mimic lords,
For you are the belle of the smartest set,
Lady Lorgnette.
II
Little Babette, with your eyes of jet,
Your midnight hair and your piquant chin,
Your lips whose odours of violet
Drive men to madness and saints to sin,--
I see you over the footlights' glare
Down in the pit 'mid the common mob,--
Your throat is burning, and brown, and bare,
You lean, and listen, and pulse, and throb;
The viols are dreaming between us two,
And my gilded crown is no make-believe,
I am more than an actor, dear, to you,
For you called me your king but yester eve,
And your heart is my golden coronet,
Little Babette.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Sunny Boy
You smile like the sunshine beaming
Golden sparkle around our cheeks
star light deep into your eyes
A prince in dark appearance
A sunny boy
Smiling foreverly
poem by Babette Teeth
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Babette's Love
BABETTE she was a fisher gal,
With jupon striped and cap in crimps.
She passed her days inside the Halle,
Or catching little nimble shrimps.
Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,
With no professional bouquet.
JACOT was, of the Customs bold,
An officer, at gay Boulogne,
He loved BABETTE - his love he told,
And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"
But "Non!" said she, "JACOT, my pet,
Vous etes trop scraggy pour BABETTE.
"Of one alone I nightly dream,
An able mariner is he,
And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-
Boat Navigation Companee.
I'll marry him, if he but will -
His name, I rather think, is BILL.
"I see him when he's not aware,
Upon our hospitable coast,
Reclining with an easy air
Upon the PORT against a post,
A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,
His native Chelsea far away!"
"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,
"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye")
"Oh, chere!" he also cried, I'm told,
"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh.
"Oh, mon! oh, chere! mes yeux! par Jove!
Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"
The PANTHER'S captain stood hard by,
He was a man of morals strict
If e'er a sailor winked his eye,
Straightway he had that sailor licked,
Mast-headed all (such was his code)
Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.
He wept to think a tar of his
Should lean so gracefully on posts,
He sighed and sobbed to think of this,
On foreign, French, and friendly coasts.
"It's human natur', p'raps - if so,
Oh, isn't human natur' low!"
He called his BILL, who pulled his curl,
He said, "My BILL, I understand
You've captivated some young gurl
On this here French and foreign land.
Her tender heart your beauties jog -
They do, you know they do, you dog.
"You have a graceful way, I learn,
Of leaning airily on posts,
By which you've been and caused to burn
A tender flame on these here coasts.
A fisher gurl, I much regret, -
Her age, sixteen - her name, BABETTE.
"You'll marry her, you gentle tar -
Your union I myself will bless,
And when you matrimonied are,
I will appoint her stewardess."
But WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed,
And cleared his throat, and thus replied:
"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,
You'd better mind your own affairs,
I have an able-bodied wife
Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs;
If all this here to her I tell,
She'll larrup you and me as well.
"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,
Is beauty such as VENUS owns -
HER beauty is beneath her skin,
And lies in layers on her bones.
The other sailors of the crew
They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'"
"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!
And is she then so very strong?"
"She'd take your honour's scruff," said he
"And pitch you over to Bolong!"
"I pardon you," the Captain said,
"The fair BABETTE you needn't wed."
Perhaps the Customs had his will,
And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,
Perhaps the Captain and his BILL,
And WILLIAM'S little wife are dead;
Or p'raps they're all alive and well:
I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Think of You When I'm Lonely
Think of you dear when I'm lonely
It was what you suggested
the sweet smiles lovely in your eyes?
Though I'm wondering hard
I wont get the answer easily
Trying to figure it out
You like to hug me while your heart is lonely?
Though I'm not quite sure
Think of you dear when I'm lonely
It was what you suggested
I am thinking of you hard
right now
poem by Babette Teeth
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The Satin Bower-Bird
Spare a bloom of blue, lady,
To adorn a bower.
A violet will do, lady
Any azure flower.
Since we hold a dance to-day,
We would make our ball-room gay,
Where the scented grasses sway.
And the tall trees tower.
Beautiful but shy, lady,
Yesterday we came
Dropping from the sky, lady,
Flecks of golden flame
Golden flame and royal blue
We have come to beg of you
Any scrap of heaven's hue
For our dancing game.
Spare us but a leaf, lady,
If our suit be spurned
We shall play the thief, lady,
When your back is turned;
Ravishing your garden plot
Of the choicest you have got
Pansy or forget-me-not
Counting it well earned.
Then, if some rare chance, lady,
Later should befall.
And you gain a glance, lady,
At our dancing hall,
You will find your blossoms there
'Mid our decorations where,
With a proud, patrician air,
We hold the Bushland Ball.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Take Your Courage To the Fighting
Take your courage for the fighting
It's not some soft words
As ironic as it can be
Your opponent is waiting here
Take your courage for the fighting
it's not some irrelevant issues
just come and fight
Why are you afraid of loss
Why are you trambling
Why are you running aback
to where you started?
poem by Babette Teeth
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When I foreverly leave
When I foreverly leave
with no notice of you
or no farewell of me
you will know what the longing is
for my staying
You have to devote for the deservings
not for the nonsense
So I leave
with no notice of you
with no farewell of me
poem by Babette Teeth
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My Longing
I wonder if you could share with me
The happiness of what you are with
And after what I have shared
With whatever I ever offered
Except pains and sorrows
Some sweetness remains
I wonder if you could share with me
The happiness of what you're with
For I've been sharing you the very thing
I have ever enjoyed
And what other people all can share
I also want to share your happiness
poem by Babette Teeth
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Poeple Afar
People's far away
from Your inner hatred
Tho which is spoken out
differently
Now you left one hand
claps no sound
Your curses, your hatred, and your untold distain
From the pride you prejudice
But you lost in the battle
Because people's gone
And you felt your loneliness
Your loneliness which is not mine
Which enjoying the fun
and pleasant time
poem by Babette Teeth
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Your Another Half-part
Though I'm shitting everywhere
I don't have to hide in anywhere
I'm out here and there
In the deepest hide
I broke out with freedom
I don't have to hide in anywhere
Though I'm shitting and You non-shitting?
You regard me as imperfection
Sure I'm not, and I don't have to be
Yet I'm not mean, and sneakingly hiding forever
out from sunshine
If I'm the acid rain
Once I got under the sunshine
But the other half-part of you
Is not as beautiful as your heart decipted to be
The darkness it hides
Can never see the sunshine
get under the sunshine
poem by Babette Teeth
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The Doughboy's Horace
Horace: Book III, Ode 9
"Donec eram gratus tibi--"
HORACE, PVT. --TH INFANTRY, A.E.F., WRITES:
While I was fussing you at home
You put the notion in my dome
That I was the Molasses Kid.
I batted strong. I'll say I did.
LYDIA, ANYBURG U.S.A., WRITES:
While you were fussing me alone
To other boys my heart was stone.
When I was all that you could see
No girl had anything on me.
HORACE:
Well, say, I'm having some romance
With one Babette, of Northern France.
If that girl gave me the command
I'd dance a jig in No-Man's Land.
LYDIA:
I, too, have got a young affair
With Charley--say, that boy is there!
I'd just as soon go out and die
If I thought it'd please that guy
HORACE:
Suppose I can this foreign wren
And start things up with you again?
Suppose I promise to be good?
I'd love you Lyd. I'll say I would.
LYDIA:
Though Charley's good and handsome--oh, boy!
And you're a stormy fickle doughboy,
So give the Hun his final whack,
And I'll marry you when you come back.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Gypsy Belle
Well I got me a southern lady.
She's my gypsy belle from Tennessee.
She's got long dark hair and skinny legs.
Lord she sets my spirit free.
Well she knows I like that good ol' whiskey,
and she knows what I'm lookin' for.
She's the finest lookin' little lady.
Well a man could never wish for more.
Gypsy Belle you know I love her.
She's my lady from Tennessee.
And I know I'm always thinking of her.
Gypsy Belle you're the one for me.
Yes I know I ain't got much money,
but she makes me feel rich at heart.
Living with this kind o' lady
make any man reach the top.
Yes I know it ain't comin' easy
Lord I ask "Who's to tell"?
If I ever make a lot o' money,
well I'd give it to my Gypsy Belle.
Gypsy Belle you know I love her.
She's my lady from Tennessee.
And I know I'm always thinking of her.
Gypsy Belle you're the one for me.
Gypsy Belle you know I love her.
She's my lady from Tennessee.
And I know I'm always thinking of her.
Gypsy Belle you're the one for me.
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Lady Love
Oh yeah x 5
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
We maybe young
But only for a while
I may look brave
But boy thats just my style
Taken from my teens
But feeding from the tears
Falling with the love
Ive holding back the years
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
The miracle of love
Is something Ive observed
And speaking for myself
Is something Ill preserve
Until I feel my way
Along the sticky road
Ill save the miracle
Im gonna take it slow
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Lady love, lady love
Lady love, lady love
Lady love, lady love
Lady love, lady love, love
I think Ive been seperate
Makes it so desperate
I think Ill moderate
Better to wait, its favourite
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Lady love, lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Chorus
Im little lady love
Ive been touched from above
And you just cant get enough
Of little lady love
Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah x2
song performed by by Sugababes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Lady
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
Hear me calling out to you
'Cause that's all that I can do
Your eyes tell me to pursue
But you say "Look yeah, but don't touch, baby"
Nah, nah, nah don't touch
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Sexy lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would dance upon a string
Any gift she'd want I'd bring
I would give her anything
If she would just do what I say
Come 'round my way, baby
Shine my way
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would love to take her home
But her heart is made of stone
Gotta keep on keepin' on
If I don't she'll do me wrong
Do me wrong, yeah
(Instrumental)
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who's That Lady
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
Hear me callin' out to you
'Cause it's all that I can do
Your eyes tell me to pursue
But you say look yeah, but don't touch (but don't touch), baby
nah, nah, nah don't touch
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Sexy lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would dance upon a string
Any gift she'd wanna bring
I would give her anything
If she would just do what I say (just do what I say)
Come 'round my way, baby
Shine my way
Who's that lady (who's that lady)
Beautiful lady (who's that lady)
Lovely lady (who's that lady)
Real fine lady (who's that lady)
I would love to take her home
But her heart is made of stone
I would keep on keepin' on
If I don't she'll do me wrong
Do me wrong, yeah
song performed by by Isley Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Limerick
Edward Lear, poet and humorist
introduced the popular five-line
Limerick into England in the year
eighteen-twenty. I quote one
limerick by Edward himself,
followed by Starlite Cafe Poets:
Verse 1 - by Edward Lear:
There was a young lady of Riga
Who rode with a smile on a tiger
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside
And the smile on the face of the tiger.
Verse 2 - by John William McGrath:
There once was a man from Reno
Who went into a little casino
He lost all his pay
On that fateful day
To a fast-dealing young Philippino.
Verse 3 - by Joyce Hemsley:
There was a young lady from Hull
Who thought she was queen of them all
But to her surprise,
Not one of the guys
Asked her to dance at the Ball.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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GOD's Love
Have you ever seen a sample?
A sample of God’s love?
Have I, I would say I’m sure.
T’was a won’drous sight.
A lady of many years,
spied a child of hardly any.
Wandering older eyes,
Met wondering younger eyes.
Their eyes brightly shined,
as if captive stars.
In place of any words,
two smiles warmed the air.
This lady of many years,
with open arms beckoned.
Sans hesitation,
eagerly, the child reached out.
In amazement we watched,
the child’s parents and I.
As this gentle lady cradled,
a bundle of love to her breast.
An inspiring sight it was,
together so content.
The child of hardly any,
and the lady, of many years.
What magic passed between them.
The lady of so many and the child,
of hardly any years.
I’m unable to explain.
My only reply if asked,
I was privileged to see.
A sample, oh so seldom seen.
A sample of, GOD’s love
11DEC94
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Let Us Live, My Lady, When We Are Young
Tomorrow I may die young lady,
And reduced to dust may be lost in dust:
Therefore let us live when we are young
And taste of life what it offers us:
The morrow may offer nothing to us,
It is the present that matters most
When you are young and budding like a rose.
Tomorrow this beauteous figure may fade
Time my lady shall not wait
And meanwhile youth shall pass.
Let us live, my lady, when we are young;
When my heart aches at missing your sight;
When with warmth I can clasp you in my arms;
When you are rich in your figure
When your touch sends ripples through my body
When your kiss makes life worth living,
Let us live, my lady, when we are young.
Room 4: The Painter Chap
He gives me such a bold and curious look,
That young American across the way,
As if he'd like to put me in a book
(Fancies himself a poet, so they say.)
Ah well! He'll make no "document" of me.
I lock my door. Ha! ha! Now none shall see. . . .
Pictures, just pictures piled from roof to floor,
Each one a bit of me, a dream fulfilled,
A vision of the beauty I adore,
My own poor glimpse of glory, passion-thrilled . . .
But now my money's gone, I paint no more.
For three days past I have not tasted food;
The jeweled colors run . . . I reel, I faint;
They tell me that my pictures are no good,
Just crude and childish daubs, a waste of paint.
I burned to throw on canvas all I saw --
Twilight on water, tenderness of trees,
Wet sands at sunset and the smoking seas,
The peace of valleys and the mountain's awe:
Emotion swayed me at the thought of these.
I sought to paint ere I had learned to draw,
And that's the trouble. . . .
Ah well! here am I,
Facing my failure after struggle long;
And there they are, my croutes that none will buy
(And doubtless they are right and I am wrong);
Well, when one's lost one's faith it's time to die. . . .
This knife will do . . . and now to slash and slash;
Rip them to ribands, rend them every one,
My dreams and visions -- tear and stab and gash,
So that their crudeness may be known to none;
Poor, miserable daubs! Ah! there, it's done. . . .
And now to close my little window tight.
Lo! in the dusking sky, serenely set,
The evening star is like a beacon bright.
And see! to keep her tender tryst with night
How Paris veils herself in violet. . . .
Oh, why does God create such men as I? --
All pride and passion and divine desire,
Raw, quivering nerve-stuff and devouring fire,
Foredoomed to failure though they try and try;
Abortive, blindly to destruction hurled;
Unfound, unfit to grapple with the world. . . .
And now to light my wheezy jet of gas;
Chink up the window-crannies and the door,
So that no single breath of air may pass;
So that I'm sealed air-tight from roof to floor.
There, there, that's done; and now there's nothing more. . . .
Look at the city's myriad lamps a-shine;
See, the calm moon is launching into space . . .
There will be darkness in these eyes of mine
Ere it can climb to shine upon my face.
Oh, it will find such peace upon my face! . . .
City of Beauty, I have loved you well,
A laugh or two I've had, but many a sigh;
I've run with you the scale from Heav'n to Hell.
Paris, I love you still . . . good-by, good-by.
Thus it all ends -- unhappily, alas!
It's time to sleep, and now . . . blow out the gas. . . .
Now there's that little midinette
Who goes to work each morning daily;
I choose to call her Blithe Babette,
Because she's always humming gaily;
And though the Goddess "Comme-il-faut"
May look on her with prim expression,
It's Pagan Paris where, you know,
The queen of virtues is Discretion.
poem by Robert William Service
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