At the Piano
Cane chairs, a sleek piano, table and bed in a room
Lifted happily high from the loud street’s fermentation;
Tobacco and chime of voices wreathing out of the gloom,
Out of the lilied dusk at the firelight’s invitation.
Then, in the muffled hour, one, strange and gracious and sad,
Moves from the phantom hearth, and, with infinite delicacies,
Looses his lissome hands along the murmurous keys.
Valse, mazurka, and nocturne, prelude and polonaise
Clamour and wander and wail on the opiate air,
Piercing our hearts with echo of passionate days,
Peopling a top front lodging with shapes of care.
And as our souls, uncovered, would shamefully hide away,
The radiant hands light up the enchanted gloom
With the pure flame of life from the shadowless tomb.