Between the acts while the orchestra played That sweet old waltz with the lilting measure, I drifted away to a dear dead day, When the dance, for me, was the sum of all pleasure;
When my veins were rife with the fever of life, When hope ran high as an inswept ocean, And my heart’ s great gladness was almost madness, As I floated off to the music’ s motion.
How little I cared for the world outside! How little I cared for the dull day after! The thought of trouble went up like a bubble, And burst in a sparkle of mirthful laughter.
Oh! and the beat of it, oh! and the sweet of it — Melody, motion, and young blood melted; The dancers swaying, the players playing, The air song-deluged and music-pelted.
I knew no weariness, no, not I — My step was as light as the waving grasses That flutter with ease on the strong-armed breeze, As it waltzes over the wild morasses.
Life was all sound and swing; youth was a perfect thing; Night was the goddess of satisfaction. Oh, how I tripped away, right to the edge of day! Joy lay in motion, and rest lay in action.
I dance no more on the music’ s wave, I yield no more to its wildering power, That time has flown like a rose that is blown, Yet life is a garden forever in flower.
Though storms of tears have watered the years, Between to-day and the day departed, Though trials have met me, and grief’ s waves wet me, And I have been tired and trouble-hearted.
Though under the sod of a wee green grave, A great, sweet hope in darkness perished, Yet life, to my thinking, is a cup worth drinking, A gift to be glad of, and loved, and cherished.
There is deeper pleasure in the slower measure That Time’ s grand orchestra now is playing. Its mellowed minor is sadder but finer, And life grows daily more worth the living.
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