O Dearest, O Daintiest Mignonne!

O dearest, O daintest Mignonne!—
O Darling! most perfect and rare!—
What one of all Eve's fairest daughters
With Mignonne can claim to compare?

Your gray eyes take captive your lovers,
Your kisses are each worth a throne;
Your dear arms and hands would impassion
A statue of Parian stone.

Your voice thrills with exquisite pathos,
In every heart that can feel
The magic of song and sweet music,
And of all that these jointly reveal.

Your lips, curled in scorn, are delicious,
When you pout, you are lovelier still,—
When they part, as enchanted I kiss them,
My soul with glad rapture they thrill.

Your bosom—we see but its contour,
And dream of its beauties divine;
So was Paradise closed against Adam,
As Love veils his holiest shrine.

Your dear little lilly-stem fingers
Weave nets for the catching of hearts;
Your tresses make fetters to bind them,—
The slaves of your mischievous arts.

Your little feet make sweetest music,
Your ankle one's fingers can span;—
What exquisite charms do you hide from
The eyes of inquisitive man!

My heart struggles hard in your meshes,
Like a bird in a merciless hand;
I'm your captive, your servant, your bondman,
Obedient to every command.

Capricious and willful, but loving,
Offended, you quickly forgive;
For you know that I love you so dearly,
I must cease, if you do not, to live.

You smile, Heaven's golden gates open,—
With light heart all dangers we dare;
You frown,—and the gates shut behind us,
We sink in the pit of despair.

O dearest, O daintiest Mignonne!
O Darling! most perfect and sweet!—
On my heart, if you will, you can trample,
For 'tis under your delicate feet.