And in its tom-boy etiquette, Maid Mignonette, my Mignonette. When bare-feet lisp along the path, And boys and jays go whistling by, And girls and thrushes coyly cry Their fine joys through the aftermath Then laid ghosts know their amulet Which fickle siren mem'ry hath; So laughing comes that sad coquette, Comes Mignonette,my Mignonette.

So fickle his moods, so versatile his genius, so quick to creation his fancy, that he never knows what his next composition will be till the second that it is begun.