THE BELL OF THE SEASON'S BALL.
The ballroom lights are extinguished, And gone are the Hying feet, And fainter soundeth the echo * Of wheels in the moonlit street. Away from the east hath gently The curtain of night been drawn, And gazing through o'er the city • Is the soft-eyed infant, Dawn. And she, who is fairest, sweetest, And belle of the season's ball, Is the maid I love— whose shadow I watch on the curtain fall. She stands in her spotless raiment, A vision of queenly grace, And pure as a dream of angels Is her lovely soul-lit face. Ah 1 she holds in her taper fingers A missive she took from mine; 1 watch, and my pulse beats quicker As she reads it line by line. Then gently, slowly, she folds it — See, close to her lips 'tis prest, And the delicate lace-work flutters, That shrineth her maiden breast. And I know she is mine, my darling — My angel for good and all ; For she loves me as I too love her, The belle of the season's ball. January 1594. — Mona Marie
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW18940125.2.210
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 2083, 25 January 1894, Page 39
Word Count
183THE BELL OF THE SEASON'S BALL. Otago Witness, Issue 2083, 25 January 1894, Page 39
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