Natalie

Such a pretty, siren face Thine was, Natalie! Such a merry, winning grace Drew my heart to thee, In those distant, happy days When thy heart was free.

Fearless then we gathered joy, Not a care had we, Happier girl and happier boy Well there could not be; In our bliss was no alloy, Playmate, Natalie.

Time is cruel. Thou and I Parted, Natalie! And thy kissed lips said “Good bye! Surely write to me.” Thou wast then too young to sigh, Little Natalie!

One day, after years had flown, Something came to me, ’Twas a portrait of my own Playmate, Natalie,— Natalie,—but not my own, Never mine to be!

There she sat, so lovely grown, Like a queen to see,— There she sat—but not alone,— With her—who is he? So my boyish dream has flown, Faithless Natalie!

In my heart there is a place Still for Natalie! For the pretty, siren face, For the sweetly, winning ways, That were dear to me, In those happy far-off days, When her heart was free.