Samuel Hoffenstein
The Theatre Scrubwoman Dreams a Dream
When morning mingles with the gloom
On empty stage and twilit aisle,
She comes with rag and pan and broom
To work—and dream awhile.
Illusion’s laughter, fancy’s tears,
The mimic loves of yesternight,
On empty stages of the years
Awake in the dim light.
She cannot sweep the phantoms out—
How sweet the sobbing violin!—
She cannot put the ghosts to rout—
How pale the heroine!
Oh! valiant hero, sorely tried!—
’Tis only dust that fills her eyes—
But he shall have his lovely bride
And she her paradise!
And she—the broom falls from her hands,
And is it dust that fills her eyes?—
Shall go with him to golden lands
And find her paradise!—
The morning wrestles with the gloom
On silent stage and chilly aisle,
She takes her rag and pan and broom
To work—and dream awhile!