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.