The Song Of The Violin

SHE stood in the curtains played over by light —
The tinted curtains — a tired, sweet girl,
With exquisite arms under laces of white
Like an ivory figure in mother-of-pearl.
I entered; she saw me, but made no move;
To some I nodded, to some replied;
(A violin somewhere was singing of love)
She blushed and paled, and I stood at her side.
I asked for a dance — she shook her head
And laughed like a petted, petulant queen;
She had promised them all to others, she said,
"And you are so late — and where have you been?"
They were talking low in the long, bright room,
And I answered her, moving the blind aside —
"Out there on the lawn in the velvet gloom,
Wooing a woman to make her my bride."
She suddenly shook like a startled dove;
Ruffled and paled and hung her head
(A violin somewhere was singing of love,
And bitter-sweet were the things it said).
"This heat is stifling!" — she moved away.
"Out here," I whispered, "and hark to the tide!"
"The woman — where is she?" I heard her say;
"Now show me the woman you wooed for a bride."
"Here on the land — and there on the sea,
Her feet among roses, her head in the skies;
And now do you see her?" She whispered "I see,"
Her hand on my shoulder, a laugh in her eyes.
"Do you love her — this lady so mystical, fine?
I dwindle before her, a plain little miss;
She has stars in her hair — only roses in mine;
But the Night has no heart, and the Night cannot kiss."
"Not now, if you please, sir!" — a moment she strove —
The curve of my arm softly circled her head . . .
A violin somewhere was singing of love,
And sweet beyond all were the things it said.