38
THE IMPROVISATRICE.
The winds have scattered it. A braid
Of the first Spring day’s golden shade,
Waves with the dark plumes on his crest.
Fresh colours are upon his breast:
The slight blue scarf, of simplest fold,
Is changed for one of woven gold.
And he is by a maiden’s side,
Whose gems of price, and robes of pride,
Would suit the daughter of a king;
And diamonds are glistening
Upon her arm. There’s not one curl
Unfastened by a loop of pearl.
And he is whispering in her ear
Soft words that ladies love to hear.
Alas!—the tale is quickly told—
His love hath felt the curse of gold!
