Scarlet little dreamer of a frozen dream,
Whirling bit of tinsel on the troubled spray,
'Tis not your hair's dead roses (your sunless, scentless roses)
'Tis not your sham sad poses
That tell your hollow day--
The glass is at _my_ lips, but the wine is far away,
The music's in _my_ throat, but my soul no song discloses,
The laughter's on _my_ tongue, but my heart is clay.


IN THE THEATRE

Weep not, fair lady, for the false,
The fickle love's rememberance,
What though another claim the waltz--
The curtain soon will close the dance.

Grieve not, pale lover, for the sweet,
Wild moment of thy vanished bliss;
The longest scene as Time is fleet--
The curtain soon will close the kiss.

And thou, too vain, too flattered mime,
Drink deep the pleasures of thy day,
No ruin is too mean for Time--
The curtain soon will close the play.