A HAND that twists the broidered veil
Above the drooping flower-red mouth
Upon the straight and delicate nose,
And, gloveless, one, snow-white and frail,
Whereon a glittering emerald glows
That lifts a tumbler to your mouth:

Soft eyes that throw a languid glance
Across the golden blazing bar,
And leave a weary smile with me:
Ah, who can tell the ways of chance,
Or why to-night divided we
Exchange bored smiles across the bar?

But age who sits beside you knows
His worth, and by the right of gold
Is claimant of your charms to-night;
While youth takes up a distant pose
And watches you from far in flight
Before the majesty of gold.

Clatter and babbling voices, and
Cabs rattling by the open door:
Most commonplace, but even here
Despair can sere and hate can brand,
Now when you rise and disappear
Beside your partner through the door!