Classic Poem

Here she comes, — my lady, — so fair and so fine
From the gold of her hair to the glitter and shine
Of her Pompadour silk with its ruffles of lace, —
A wonderful vision of fashion and grace.

Here she comes, — my lady, — drawing on the pink gloves
Which I know, even here, have the scent that she loves;
And soft, as she moves her fingers of snow,
I catch in the movement the sparkle and glow

Of the ring that I gave her, — the diamond solitaire
That marks her " my lady, " in Vanity Fair;
My lady, — my jewel, — to have and to hold
As her diamond is held, — in a setting of gold .

My lady, — my jewel, — would she sparkle and glow
If into the light I should suddenly go,
And stand where her beautiful eyes would discover,
In the flash of a moment, the eyes of her lover?

Would she turn to my glance as the diamond turns
To the light all its rays, till it blushes and burns?
Should I, standing thus, in that moment, — her lover, —
Be the light, all the light of her soul to discover?

Ah, my lady, — my jewel, — so fair and so fine,
Of your soul I have had little token or sign;
When I put on your finger that diamond solitaire,
I knew I was buying in Vanity Fair!

And now I sit down daily with a face
As still as Death's, and keep an outward grace
Of silence, while the heart within, at Fate,
Clamors and frets behind its iron gate.