Poems (Hooper)/At the Bal Mabille

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

AT THE BAL MABILLE.

I waited near the Bal Mabille,
 Beside the open door,
I fain would see the face that I
 Shall living see no more.

Outside, the silent night and I;
 Inside, the joyous din:
Alas! that Love should weep without,
 And Sin should laugh within.

You passed me in the lamp-lit street,
 With flowers in your hair,
And diamonds upon your breast,
 So beautiful—so bare.

Your dress of rosy moiré silk
 Swept round me as you passed:
You'll find a stain upon its folds—
 It was a tear—my last.

I scarcely knew the face I loved
 A few brief months ago,
For there was paint upon your cheek,
 A brand upon your brow.

Now I shall never seek you more,
 Whate'er your fate may be.
I go to wait, where soon or late
 You'll surely come to me.

Though months and years may pass away
 Before we meet again,
You will not fail to keep this tryst
 Beside the river Seine.

Dim then will be those shameless eyes,
 Those mocking lips be dumb;
For I am keeper of La Morgue:
 I wait there till you come.

You will not come with painted cheeks,
 In flowers, gems, and moire.
Good-night, O woman that I loved;
 Good-night, and au revoir.