Poems (Forrest)/The toast
THE TOAST
They set her on the table among the silver's gleam:
Her hair was black as stormy night, her eyes a captured dream.
"A toast! A toast!" they hailed her, and through the tresses shine,
"The man who has forgotten," she whispered o'er the wine;
Her hair was black as stormy night, her eyes a captured dream.
"A toast! A toast!" they hailed her, and through the tresses shine,
"The man who has forgotten," she whispered o'er the wine;
Her gown slid from a shoulder that called for someone's kiss;
They clicked their heels together, and swore "What jest is this?"
The hand was on the sword-hilt, below the ruffles fine. . .
"If such be found among us?" And they set down the wine.
They clicked their heels together, and swore "What jest is this?"
The hand was on the sword-hilt, below the ruffles fine. . .
"If such be found among us?" And they set down the wine.
Bold eyes appraised her lovely face and guessed at hidden charms,
And one set both her little feet upon his open palms.
"Could Blood with blood forget her?" And to the torches' sway
The voices shook the rafter that cried that strenuous "Nay!"
And one set both her little feet upon his open palms.
"Could Blood with blood forget her?" And to the torches' sway
The voices shook the rafter that cried that strenuous "Nay!"
The clink of gold coins lightly flung the listening varlets heard,
And wondered that the gipsy wench should speak no grateful word.
With rebel curls across her breast, and rebel eye ashine,
To the man who had forgotten, she pledged the beaded wine!
And wondered that the gipsy wench should speak no grateful word.
With rebel curls across her breast, and rebel eye ashine,
To the man who had forgotten, she pledged the beaded wine!