Classic Poem

A LONE in the parlour, alone in the gloom,
With only the moonlight to look in the room,
I waken a waltz from the old yellow keys
Of an old mellow Broadwood of old melodies.
I linger and finger the music an hour
For the sake of the someone who liked it of old,
And the music is strong with a pitiful power,
And sombre with secrets that used to be told.
The secrets are mute, though the music remains
All trembling and stirring with dreamy refrains.

Alone in the parlour, alone for so long
That love nearly tires of the sorrowful song;
And nothing has changed but the wearisome years,
And nothing is sure but the shedding of tears.
And nothing has happened for time out of mind,
And nobody vexes, for nobody knows,
And hearts that were bruised are consoled and resigned,
Though one heart dreams ever on all the old woes;
The woes that were joys ere the tale was complete,
A the music is saddened that sounded so sweet.

Alone in the parlour, for ever alone,
And the love-music dies in a low minor tone.
I cover my face in a passion of grief
But only the tears ever come for relief.
For the words that would solace forever are stilled,
The lips that would comfort have breathed their last sigh,
The wish that would cheer me can never be willed,
And all I remember is bidding good-bye,
And all that I learn is the lesson that lies
In the tones of a waltz and the grief that replies.