The well-dressed throng of women murmured -- stirred; The singer faced them -- bland and calm of mien. How could he know what miracle occurred For her who thought she could not dream again -- She was a princess, slender, tall, and fair, Whose casement opened slowly to the night That she might lean to throw a red rose where A troubadour stood singing in the night. How short are dreams! His magic notes were stilled -- She tucked a white curl close and smoothed her dress. The promise of her years had been fulfilled -- This youth approached the brink of happiness. With studied grace she poured and passed his tea -- Spoke graciously, "Your songs enchanted me!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE PENDING YEAR by WALT WHITMAN CHRISTMAS, 1917 by BRENT DOW ALLINSON AN ENGLISH SHELL by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON SUBJECT LOVE, FOR THE VASE AT BATHEASTON VILLA by JANE BOWDLER SONNETS OF SEVEN CITIES: NEW ORLEANS by BERTON BRALEY THE BRIGS OF AYR by ROBERT BURNS STILL DAYS AND STORMY by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |