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Poem	The little French doll was a dear little doll Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; Her eyes were of hue A most delicate blue And dark as the night were her tresses; Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, And this little French doll was so very well bred That whenever accosted her little mouth said "Mamma! mamma!" The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg, Had once been a handsome young fellow; But now he appeared Rather frowzy and bleared In his torn regimentals of yellow; Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay In the little toy cart near the window one day And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say: "Mamma! mamma!" He listened so long and he listened so hard That anon he grew ever so tender, For it's everywhere known That the feminine tone Gets away with all masculine gender! He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest But all she'd reply to the love he professed Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed): "Mamma! mamma!" Her mother - a sweet little lady of five - Vouchsafed her parental protection, And although stockinet Wasn't blue-blooded, yet She really could make no objection! So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say: "Mamma! mamma!"
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