Poems (Hooper)/After the Ball
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.