Poems (Linn)/An Old Vinaigrette
AN OLD VINAIGRETTE.
LITTLE gleaming box of silver Wrought in flowery design;Drifted down the silent ages To this humble hand of mine;
From the days of kingly France, From the days of minuet dance,From the days of stately graces, Powdered hair and painted faces;
Bring a shining thread of story To this all-prosaic hour;From those castles proud and olden, Those salons of wit and power.
You have known the love and woe Of fair dames of long ago;Round you like a love-tale wreathing Is the perfume of their breathing.
Silent! Not a word to give me! See, I raise your flowery lid;Whisper in your heart my secret Knowing you will keep it hid.
One more life now leaves its trace; One more love has lent its grace;Keep it sacred down the ages On your shining silver pages.
Now my imprint I have given Though you never bear my name:Graven with your silver roses Are all lives of praise or blame.
All things that we touch or wear Must the spirit's impress bear.Every hand that ever won you Left a fadeless mark upon you.
Love and hate and jealous passion,— All I feel have been your own;Shall my life not breathe about you Purer love than you have known?
Nobler grows this life with years, Grander grow earth's hopes and fears;May the traces of my living Make this heirloom worthier giving.