A hand that twists the broidered veilAbove the drooping flower-red mouthUpon the straight and delicate nose,And, gloveless, one, snow-white and frail,Whereon a glittering emerald glowsThat lifts a tumbler to your mouth:
Soft eyes that throw a languid glanceAcross the golden blazing bar,And leave a weary smile with me:Ah, who can tell the ways of chance,Or why to-night divided weExchange bored smiles across the bar?
But age who sits beside you knowsHis worth, and by the right of goldIs claimant of your charms to-night;While youth takes up a distant poseAnd watches you from far in flightBefore the majesty of gold.
Clatter and babbling voices, andCabs rattling by the open door:Most commonplace, but even hereDespair can sere and hate can brand,Now when you rise and disappearBeside your partner through the door!
