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Eugene Field

Little Mistress Sans-Merci

Little Mistress Sans-Merci

Fareth world-wide, fancy free:

Trotteth cooing to and fro,

And her cooing is command—

Never ruled there yet, I trow,

Mightier despot in the land.

And my heart it lieth where

Mistress Sans-Merci doth fare.

Little Mistress Sans-Merci—

She hath made a slave of me!

"Go," she biddeth, and I go—

"Come," and I am fain to come.

Never mercy doth she show,

Be she wroth or frolicsome,

Yet am I content to be

Slave to Mistress Sans-Merci!

Little Mistress Sans-Merci

Hath become so dear to me

That I count as passing sweet

All the pain her moods impart,

And I bless the little feet

That go trampling on my heart:

Ah, how lonely life would be

But for little Sans-Merci!

Little Mistress Sans-Merci,

Cuddle close this night to me,

And the heart, which all day long

Ruthless thou hast trod upon,

Shall outpour a soothing song

For its best beloved one—

All its tenderness for thee,

Little Mistress Sans-Merci!