ON spinet old, Clarissa plays The melodies of by-gone days. Forgotten fugue, a solemn tune, The bars of stately rigadoon. With head bent down to scan each note, A crimson ribbon round her throat, The very birds to sing forget As some old-fashioned minuet Clarissa plays. King George long since has passed away, And minuets have had their day. Within a hidden attic nook Covered with dust, her music-book. Gone are the keys her fingers pressed, The bunch of roses at her breast. But still, unmindful of time's flight, With face so fair and hands so white, Clarissa plays. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PUSSY-WILLOW TIME by ROBERT FROST DEVASTATION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE STARLING; SONNET by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOSEPH DIXON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. SIBLEY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA YOUNG SAMMY'S FIRST WILD OATS by GEORGE SANTAYANA |