Part 17 (1/2)

Close, close beside me, sat a phantom form; Above the music and loud cheer on cheer That rose, and thundered like a sudden storm, I heard his low voice whispering in my ear.

A dead man's voice. You know when dead men speak There is no noise their least tone will not drown.

His sweet soft words brought blushes to my cheek, And made my happy eyelids flutter down.

There were so many gla.s.ses turned on me, My chaperon was proud. She called me fair, And said I drew their glances. Well, may be.

_I_ think they saw that dead man sitting there.

A dead man at an opera: how strange!

I know it must have seemed much out of place.

He smiled, and spoke, and there was little change In the white pallor of his perfect face.

Yet he was dead. I knew it all the while, I do not wonder people looked that way.

It seemed so odd to see a dead man smile; Its strangeness never struck me till to-day.

He rose and went out when we left our stall; Rose up, went out, and vanished in the night.

He always sits beside me in that hall, But goes when goes the music and the light.

A STRAIN OF MUSIC

In through the open window To the chamber where I lay, There came the beat of merry feet, From the dancers over the way.

And back on the wings of the music That rose on the midnight air, My rare youth came and spoke my name, And lo! I was young and fair.

Once more in the glitter of gaslight I stood in my life's glad prime: And heart and feet in a rhythm sweet Were keeping the music's time.

Like a leaf in the breeze of summer I drifted down the hall, On an arm that is cold with death and mould, And is hidden under the pall.

Once more at a low voice's whisper (A voice that is long since stilled) I felt the flush of a rising blush, And my pulses leaped and thrilled.

Once more in a sea of faces, I only saw one face; And life grew bright with a new delight, And sweet with a nameless grace.

A crash of pa.s.sionate music, A hush and a silence then; The dancers rest in their pleasure quest, And lo! I am old again.

Old and alone in my chamber, While the night wears wearily on, And the pallid wraith of a broken faith-- Keeps watch with me till the dawn.

SMOKE

Last summer, lazing by the sea, I met a most entrancing creature, Her black eyes quite bewildered me-- She had a Spanish cast of feature.

She often smoked a cigarette, And did it in the cutest fas.h.i.+on.

Before a week pa.s.sed by she set My young heart in a raging pa.s.sion.

I swore I loved her as my life, I gave her gems (don't tell my tailor).