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At the Hop

‘€˜Tis time to dress.  Dost hear the music surging
Like sobbing waves that roll up from the sea?
Yes, yes, I hear '€“ I yield '€“ no need of urging;
I know your wishes, - send Lisette to me.
 
I hate the ballroom; hate its gilded pleasure;
I hate the crowd within it, well you know;
But what of that? I am your lawful treasure '€“
And when you would display me I must go.
 
You bought me with a mother’€™s pain and trouble.
I’€™ve been a great expense to you always.
And now, if you can sell me, and get double
The sum cost '€“ why, what have I to say?
 
You’€™ve done your duty: kept me in the fashion,
And shown off me at every stylish place.
‘€˜Twas not your fault I had a heart of passion;
'€˜Twas not your fault I ever saw his face.
 
The dream was brief, and beautiful, and tender,
(O, God! to live those golden hours once more.
The silver moonlight, and his dark eyes’€™ splendour,
The sky above us, and the sea below.)
 
Come, come, Lisette, bring out those royal laces;
To-night must make the victory complete.
Among the crowd of masked and smiling faces,
I’€™ll move with laughter, and with smiles most sweet.
 
Make me most fair! with youth and grace and beauty.
I needs must conquer bloated age and gold.
She shall not say I have not done my duty;
I’€™m ready now '€“ a daughter to be sold!
Other works by Ella Wheeler Wilcox ...



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