At her Door

A fool for my doubting and dreaming And following up and down! Shall I fill my life with scheming For a touch of my lady's gown?

Shall I plot from night to morning For the glance of a woman's eye? And take the wage of scorning, And wear shame’s livery?

O footman, O wonder of whiteness And diplomatic cockade, O footman of much politeness For my lady's lady's-maid, —

As you open the door of the carriage, Just tell her I've gone away, But will come to dance at her marriage On somebody's happy day.