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A GHOST AT THE DANCING.
And how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the lovely girl is mine!
For the lovely girl is mine!
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
In a music soft and fine;
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine.
She owns no lands, has no white hands,
Her lot is poor, her life obscure;—
Yet how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine!
In a music soft and fine;
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine.
She owns no lands, has no white hands,
Her lot is poor, her life obscure;—
Yet how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine!
A GHOST AT THE DANCING.
WIND-SWEPT tulip-bed—a colored cloud Of butterflies careering in the air—
A many-figured arras stirred to life
And merry unto midnight music dumb—
So the dance whirls. Do any think of thee,
Amiel, Amiel?
