Emmy’s laughter rings in my ears, as bright, Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook, And still I hear her telling us tales that night, Out of Boccaccio’s book.

There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall, Leaning across the table, over the beer, While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball, As the midnight hour drew near,

There with the women, haggard, painted and old, One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale, She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told Tale after shameless tale.

And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled, Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun, And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child, Or ever the tale was done.

O my child, who wronged you first, and began First the dance of death that you dance so well? Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man Shall answer for yours in hell.

 

EMMY AT THE ELDORADO.

TO meet, of all unlikely things, Here, after all one’s wanderings! But, Emmy, though we meet, What of this lover at your feet?

For, is this Emmy that I see? A fragile domesticity I seem to half surprise In the evasions of those eyes.

Once a child’s cloudless eyes, they seem Lost in the blue depths of a dream, As though, for innocent hours, To stray with love among the flowers.

Without regret, without desire, In those old days of love on hire, Child, child, what will you do, Emmy, now love is come to you?

Already, in so brief a while, The gleam has faded from your smile; This grave and tender air Leaves you, for all but one, less fair.

Then, you were heedless, happy, gay, Immortally a child; to-day A woman, at the years’ control: Undine has found a soul.

 

AT THE CAVOUR.

WINE, the red coals, the flaring gas, Bring out a brighter tone in cheeks That learn at home before the glass The flush that eloquently speaks.

The blue-grey smoke of cigarettes Curls from the lessening ends that glow; The men are thinking of the bets, The women of the debts, they owe.

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