148
WAITING AT THE PARTY.
Yet most I've seen a lily-band
Of buried visions I should know
Rise from that misty fairy land
We call the Long Ago.
Of buried visions I should know
Rise from that misty fairy land
We call the Long Ago.
These wear death's snow-calms in their breasts,
Like great, white flowers—and linger near:
O, beautiful—oh pale, still guests!
Who did invite you here?
Like great, white flowers—and linger near:
O, beautiful—oh pale, still guests!
Who did invite you here?
. . . Once more I hear the music start
And murmur through its veil of light,
And the deep fountains of my heart
Are broken up to-night.
And murmur through its veil of light,
And the deep fountains of my heart
Are broken up to-night.
. . . But—you are waiting at the door,
With half a frown and half a smile,
Thinking, no doubt, I've stayed before
The mirror all this while.
With half a frown and half a smile,
Thinking, no doubt, I've stayed before
The mirror all this while.
And, as your delicate fingers twine
Unrestful through your curls of brown,
You lift your dark, cold eyes to mine,
And ask: "Shall we go down?"
Unrestful through your curls of brown,
You lift your dark, cold eyes to mine,
And ask: "Shall we go down?"
