An “Idyl” of the Ball
I.
In reel, in waltz, in lancer’s maze,
She moved with pretty air of grace,
And all the ball-room’s brilliant blaze
Seemed borrowed brightness from her face!
O, winsome maid, demure and sweet!
I’ll ne’er forget when first I met her,
And saw the dainty slippered feet
Glide o’er the floor at Linnietta!
II.
O, dreams of youth and beauty rare,
What rose-hued visions thou canst paint!
But none in loveliness compare
With her who seemed Love’s patron saint!
Her pictured image haunts the mind,
And, oh, I never can forget her,
Nor rarer pleasure hope to find
Than dance with her at Linnietta!
III.
Arrayed in softly flowing gown,
The love-light flashing from her eyes—
With cheeks aglow like roses blown
Beneath the ardent summer skies—
No artist hand could fitly trace
The wondrous charm that did beset her,
When tripping with a fairy’s grace
O’er the waxen floor at Linnietta!