Yesterdays — A Dirge

My tortured senses new despair will borrow From those reminders of a vanished day, That was as full of joy as this of sorrow-- O beautiful, sad summer keep away!

A DIRGE

Death and a dirge at midnight;

Yet never a soul in the house Heard anything more than the throb and beat Of a beautiful waltz of Strauss.

Dead, dead, dead, and staring, With a ghastly smile on its face;

But the world saw only laughing eyes And roses, and billows of lace.

Floating and whirling together, Into the beautiful night, How little you dreamed of the ghastly thing I was hiding away from your sight.

Meeting your dark eyes' splendour, Feeling your warm, sweet breath, How could you know that my passionate heart Had died a horrible death?

Died in its fever and fervour, Died in its beautiful bloom;

And that waltz of Strauss was a funeral dirge, Leading the way to the tomb.

But you held my hand at parting, And I smiled back a gay good night;

And you never knew of the ghastly corpse I was hiding away from your sight.

Yet whenever I hear the Danube-- Under its pulsing strain, I catch the wail of the funeral dirge, And my heart dies over again.

NOT ANCHORED