Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill--
Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until
Somewhere a clock starts chiming.... It is
late....
Out through the dark wan tenderness and hate
Press pale kisses upon the city's lips--
Dawn comes creeping, the weary nighttime slips
Furtively by, like some hurt thief with plunder....
Dear, I cross to my window, and I wonder
Whether you are asleep, or if you lie,
Sleepless beneath the smoke-hung purple sky....
Down in the streets the tired city vaguely clatters,
Here alone in my room I stand, and nothing matters,
Only.... I love you!
THE BALCONY SCENES
The stage is set, like a garden,
And the lights are flickering and low;
And a Romeo with fat legs,
Is telling a Juliet with dyed hair and tired,
disillusioned eyes,
That love--real love--is the only thing in the world.
And up in the balcony of the theatre
Where the seats cost twenty-five cents,
A slim little girl in a shiny serge frock,
And a boy with a wistful mouth
Are holding hands.
And as they listen, breathlessly, to the studied voice
of the actor,
Their fingers are all a-thrill,
With the music of the ages.
A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP
A dusty, musty little shop set in a dingy street,
A doorsill old and scarred and worn by many tired
feet,
A row of cases, vaguely glassed, a safe against the
wall,
And, oh, the ache of many hearts--the fabric of it
all!
A violin with broken strings that fingers have
caressed,
A diamond-set betrothal ring that lover's lips have
pressed,
A high shell comb, a spangled fan, a filmy bit of lace,
A heart-shaped locket, ribbon-tied, that frames a
laughing face.
A pair of blankets folded up, an overcoat, a shawl,
A tall old clock that might have chimed in some
wainscoted hall,
And in the farthest corner, where the purple shadows
lie,
The echo of a woman's sob, the phantom of a sigh.
Ah, wedding-rings--a score of them--not many of
them new,
A grim revolver laid beside a baby's tiny shoe,
A satin coat, a ragged gown, a gold-clasped book of
verse,
A necklace of bedraggled pearls, an empty silver
purse.
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