The notes still float upon the air,
Just as they did that night.
I see the old piano there,—
Oh, that again I might!
Her young voice haunts my eager ear;
Her hair in the candle-light
Still seems an aureole,— a tear
Is my spectroscope to-night.
I hear her trembling tell me “No,”
And I know that she answered right
But I throw a kiss to the stars, and though
She be wed she will dream to-night.