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58
JULIET AFTER THE MASQUERADE.
IV.
Music's sweet and distant sound
Comes floating on the air,
From the banquet-room it tells
The dancers still are there:
V.
But she, their loveliest one,
Has left the festal scene,
To dream on what may be,
To muse o'er what has been;
VI.
To think on low, soft words,
Her ear had drunk that night,
While her heart beat echo-like,
And her cheek burnt ruby bright.
VII.
How beautiful she looks
Beneath that moonlit sky,
With her lip of living rose,
Her blue and drooping eye!
VIII.
Spell-like, the festal scene
Rises on heart and brain;
Not a word, and not a look,
But she lives them o'er again.
