Quoth Flavilla, "Think I can't
Why they will call me "piquant.""
Yet, Flavilla! should we try,
We might find the reason why.
Be thy mien "devout and pure,
"Sober, steadfast, and demure;"
Yetif something in thy smile
Contradict it all the while,
Is'nt this, Flavilla!grant
Is'nt this to be piquant?
Be thy talk not gay o'er much;
Yetif serious-seeming touch
Stirreth ever more the string
Of some fond imagining,
Is'nt this, Flavilla!grant
Is'nt this to be piquant?
If when deeplier we would look
Into that half-open book,
Thou dost close it, Slyest Saint!
More to tempt us by restraint;
Is'nt this, Flavilla!grant
Is'nt this to be piquant?
Would we know what else may serve
Thisthy mantle of reserve
Whether thou dost shroud in it
Loving thoughts, for lady fit,
Or but some provoking wit
If, with pretty, wilful dealing,
Nowclose veilednow part revealing
Thou, like some coquettish nun,
Mockest still our fancies on;
Then, just as we had hoped to win
Way the parlour-nook within,
Coolly turning, bidd'st us wait
Thy pleasure at the outer grate;
Isn't this, Flavilla!grant
Isn't this to be piquant?
