IN the dim summer night they were leaning alone From the balcony over the walk; He, careless enough, one had guessed by the tone Of his voice and his murmurous talk; And she -- well, her laugh flowed as sweet to the breeze As the voice of the faint violin That ran, with a ripple of ivory keys, Through the opera warbled within. . . . . . . . In the odorous locust-boughs trailed o'er the eaves, The nightingale paused in his tune, And the mute katydid hid away in the leaves That were turned from the smile of the moon: And the man sat alone, with his fingers clenched tight O'er a heart that had failed in its beat, While the passers-by saw but a spatter of light Where he dropped his cigar in the street. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TENTH MUSE: THE VANITY OF ALL WORLDLY THINGS by ANNE BRADSTREET THE RIVULET by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: AZRAEL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SONNETS TO LAURA IN LIFE: 109 by PETRARCH BILL'S LENGTH by ALEXANDER ANDERSON LE GUIGNON by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |