A Walts With a Tear in It

Ah, how I love it in these first few days,

Fresh from the forest and out of the snow,

Awkwardness obvious still in every bough,

When every silver thread lazily

And every cone begins slowly to

In candlelight—and the white sheet

Hides its sore stump from our eyes.

It will not bat an eye if you heap

And jewels on it-this shyest of

In blue enamel and tinfoil

Creeps in your heart of hearts—and there it stays.

Ah, how I love it all in these first days,

All golden finery and silver shades!

All in the making-stars, flags, lanterns, flares,

There are no chocolates yet in bonbonnieres.

Even the candles are no

Look more like dull sticks of makeup by day.

This is an actress still lighting stage

In the tumult of her benefit night.

Ah, how I love her on this opening day,

Flushed in the coulisses before the play!

Apples to appletrees, and kicks to firtrees.

Only not this one—no kicks for the beauty.

She has a different purpose and duty.

She's the select one, receiver of favours.

Her evening party will go on forever.

Others may fear proverb s-this one does not.

Her fate is only a few firtrees' lot.

Golden and fiery, she will soar high,

Like an old prophet ascending the sky.

Ah, how I love it all in these first days,

When all the world chats and fusses and plays!