A charming maid got on the train
With mother and her father,
Bound for the western hill and plain,
Expecting naught to bother,
But soon there came a trim young man
Who rushed up to the car,
Excited, with expression wan,
And asked of me how far
He'd have to go to get some flowers.
I told him he might find
Some at the news stand. All his powers
Of haste he then aligned,
In order to return before
The time the train should leave;
For at first sight he'd loved her more
Than she could well believe.
He happened to be at the same
Hotel where she had stayed,
And when she in to dinner came
He saw and loved the maid.
He had not met this sweet, French Miss,
(Now formally, I mean,)
But he had learned her name was 'Thyss,'
When he her face had seen.
He found the flow'rs, in haste returned,
And sent them in to her;
His mind was wild, his heart had yearned
Her sympathy to stir.
She knew him not, nor e'en had thought
That she was thus admired.
She was surprised much and was fraught
With wonder, and desired
To see the person who had sent
This token of respect;
So to the vestibule she went
And asked his name to get.
I knew him not better than she.
Impatiently he paced
The platform along side of me,
Until the maid he faced.
He tried to say something to her,
But failed; his voice was weak;
His lips uttered a faint murmur;
But thus his heart did speak:
'Comme le ciel est si bleu,
Pour vous mort pauvre coeur est en feu;
Comme mon coeur l'est ce jour,
Je parlerai d'amour toujours.'
'Voulez-vous m'accepter?
Puis-je mon coeur, en fin, vous laisser?
Je vous aime, chere mademoiselle,
Et la, sans vous, mon coeur est frele.'