Classic Poem

Stand aside while Schamiloff,
In the hall of Peterhof,
Drags the Queen of Beauty off,
Duchess Olga Romanoff,
Stemming the dance's tide
With the Mazurka stride
Which she, so lately
Grand Duchess stately,
Follows sedately.
Now, with a victor's pride,
Clasps he her slender waist,
Twin-like they onward glide,
As though by foemen chased;
Now casts her loose, but holds,
Vice-like, her captive hand;
While like a tempest rolls
Louder the frantic band.
He tramps with fiercer swing,
She his pace following
Lightly as bird on wing,
Follows without demur
His clashing heel and spur;
He proud as Lucifer,
She as an angel calm
Trusting his iron arm
Through the wild dances swarm,
Till the orchestral storm
Melts into melodies
Soft as a summer breeze
Now other steps they choose,
He in his turn pursues
And her forgiveness woos,
With a beseeching joy,
Woos her retreating coy,
When, like a thunder-clap,
Halt! bids the leader's rap,
And Duchess Olga sees
Schamiloff on his knees.