Poems (Hooper)/After the Ball

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

AFTER THE BALL.

I sit beside the midnight fire,
 The ball-room roses in my hair;
Without, the snow is falling fast,
 And strange storm-voices fill the air.
My feet are weary of the dance;
 The revel whirls within my brain;
And something deep within my breast
 Throbs with a ceaseless pulse of pain.

Yes, I have plucked the Dead Sea fruit,
 And savored long its rind of gold;
Its ashy core now frets my lip,
 Its dust is falling from my hold.
And though I struggle to forget,
 And though my heart be triply steeled,
I cannot banish from my brain
 A vision of a battle-field.

A vision of the solemn hour
 When won and ended is the fight,
And when upon the awful scene
 Look down the tender eyes of night;
While, pillowed on his prostrate horse,
 And pale beneath his raven hair,
The old smile new upon his lip,
 The man I loved lies lifeless there.

He loved me as such men can love,
 The brave, the noble, and the true;
He wooed me as a gallant heart
 And poet soul alone could woo.
He told in burning words his love,—
 I listened with a startled smile,—
And spoke of "friendship" and "regret,
 And yet I loved him all the while.

I loved him, but I loved still more
 Gay balls, flirtations, stylish dress.
To hold these fast I spurned away
 That true heart's wealth of tenderness.
He left me with a calm farewell,—
 Too fond to frown—too proud to sigh.
I danced and flirted as of old,
 And he went forth to fight and die.

And still I tread the self-same round
 Of balls and operas and dress;
But o'er my life is creeping slow
 A mistlike pall of weariness.
The gayest galop fails to stir
 To bounding life my languid feet;
I listless drop my rich bouquet,
 My senses sickened by its sweet.

Cold lie the embers on the hearth,
 The dark without is growing gray,
And I must woo reluctant sleep
 Before the dawning of the day.
Back, ghostly Past, into your tomb!
 Close, eyes, upon th' unwelcome light!
I am engaged for every dance
 At the grand ball to-morrow night.