George Pope Morris
The Ball-Room Belle.
The moon and all her starry train
Were fading from the morning sky,
When home the ball-room belle again
Returned, with throbbing pulse and brain,
Flushed cheek and tearful eye.
The plume that danced above her brow,
The gem that sparkled in her zone,
The scarf of spangled leaf and bough,
Were laid aside--they mocked her now,
When desolate and lone.
That night how many hearts she won!
The reigning belle, she could not stir,
But, like the planets round the sun,
Her suitors followed--all but one--
One all the world to her!
And she had lost him!--Marvel not
That lady's eyes with tears were wet!
Though love by man is soon forgot,
It never yet was woman's lot
To love and to forget.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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