They will sing for me no masses,
Not a kaddisch will be said
In devout commemoration
Of the day my spirit fled.

But I shall not be forgotten;
If the weather is serene,
Frau Matilda may go walking
On Monmartre with Pauline.

And some immortelles she'll carry,
On my grave the wreath she'll set,
And she'll sigh, " Pauvre homme! " and sadly
Drop a tear of soft regret.

And alas! too high in Heaven
I shall be to give my sweet
Even a chair to sit and rest on,
Though she sways with weary feet.

Listen, plump and pretty darling;
Home afoot you must not go.
You will see outside the gateway
Hackney carriages arow.