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Category: Poems of Love Lost

  The Beautiful Blue Danube  

They drift down the hall together;
    He smiles in her lifted eyes;
Like waves of that mighty river,
    The strains of the "Danube" rise.
They float on its rhythmic measure
    Like leaves on a summer-stream;
And here, in this scene of pleasure,
    I bury my sweet, dead dream.

Through the cloud of her dusky tresses,
    Like a star, shines out her face,
And the form his strong arm presses
    Is sylph like in its grace.
As a leaf on the bounding river
    Is lost in the seething sea,
I know that forever and ever
    My dream is lost to me.

And still the viols are playing
    That grand old wordless rhyme;
And still those two ate swaying
    In perfect tune and time.
If the great bassoons that mutter,
    If the clarinets that blow,
Were given a voice to utter
    The secret things they know,

Would the lists of the slam who slumber
    On the Danube's battle-plains
The unknown hosts outnumber
    Who die 'neath the "Danube's" strains?
Those fall where cannons rattle,
    'Mid the rain of shot and shell;
But these, in a fiercer battle,
    Find death in the music's swell.

With the river's roar of passion
    Is blended the dying groan;
But here, in the halls of fashion,
    Hearts break, and make no moan.
And the music, swelling and sweeping,
    Like the river, knows it all;
But none are counting or keeping
    The lists of these who fall.

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