Author: Eugene Field

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    'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met,
    And yet, ah yet, how swift and tender
    My thoughts go back in Time's dull track
    To you, sweet pink of female gender!
    I shall not say--though others may--
    That time all human joy enhances;
    But the same old thrill comes to me still
    With memories of your songs and dances.

    Soubrettish ways these latter days
    Invite my praise, but never get it;
    I still am true to yours and you--
    My record's made--I'll not upset it!
    The pranks they play, the things they say--
    I'd blush to put the like on paper;
    And I'll avow they don't know how
    To dance, so awkwardly they caper!

    I used to sit down in the pit
    And see you flit like elf or fairy
    Across the stage, and I'll engage
    No moonbeam sprite were half so airy.
    Lo! everywhere about me there
    Were rivals reeking with pomatum,
    And if perchance they caught a glance
    In song or dance, how did I hate 'em!

    At half-past ten came rapture--then
    Of all those men was I most happy,
    For wine and things and food for kings
    And tete-a-tetes were on the tapis.
    Did you forget, my fair soubrette,
    Those suppers in the Cafe Rector--
    The cozy nook where we partook
    Of sweeter draughts than fabled nectar?

    Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways
    Knew every phase of harmless folly!
    Oh, blissful nights whose fierce delights
    Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy!
    Gone are they all beyond recall,
    And I, a shade--a mere reflection--
    Am forced to feed my spirits' greed
    Upon the husks of retrospection.

    And lo! to-night the phantom light
    That as a sprite flits on the fender
    Reveals a face whose girlish grace
    Brings back the feeling, warm and tender;
    And all the while the old time smile
    Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled,
    As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet
    Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled.

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Type of Poem: Lyric Poem

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem is a poignant exploration of nostalgia, longing, and the passage of time. The poet's use of the term 'soubrette', traditionally referring to a coquettish maid or frivolous actress in French theatre, suggests a past relationship with a performer. The speaker seems to have been captivated by her performances, referring to her as "sweet pink of female gender" and a "sprite," adding a tone of whimsical affection to the narrative.

The structure of the poem, with its consistent rhyme scheme and rhythm, underscores the speaker's reminiscence, as if each stanza is a fond memory being turned over in his mind. The repeated use of direct address ("soubrette") and questioning ("Did you forget, my fair soubrette") crafts a sense of intimacy and personal reflection, while the imagery of the theatre and performances underscores the dramatic and ephemeral nature of their past relationship. The poet employs metaphors and similes, such as "No moonbeam sprite were half so airy," and "Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled," which enrich the poem's imagery and emotional resonance.

The tone of the poem is at once tender and melancholic, reflecting the speaker's longing for the past and his recognition of the irrevocability of time. This is most evident in the closing stanzas, where he refers to himself as a "mere reflection" and "forced to feed my spirits' greed/ Upon the husks of retrospection." This use of metaphor suggests that he is a shadow of his former self, nourishing his spirit with the remnants of past memories. This beautiful, evocative poem captures a universal human experience - the bittersweet allure of nostalgia and the inexorable passage of time.