A Waltz.

Delicate gayety,
Strains of a violin;
Graceful steps begin -
Roses at her waist!
Clouds of sparkling light,
Whispers of lovers alone
As the couples drift one by one
In the golden sheen of the ball.
Alone in the happy crowd
Each pair glides past each pair;
Delicate strains of an air;
Rainbow gayety:
Pride of the moment throbs,
Smiles, on the youthful cheek,
Fearing no ill-wind's freak,
Warm in the heart of the waltz; -
Moving like melody,
Flowing in light and glee,
Young as the May is she,
Strong as the June I am.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop was an American Roman Catholic nun and social worker. Born on May 20, 1851, in Lenox, Massachusetts, she was the daughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the famous novelist. After a failed marriage, Lathrop turned towards religious life and dedicated herself to caring for those with incurable cancer. She founded the Dominican Sisters of Hawthorne, and the community grew to operate several homes for cancer patients. She passed away on July 9, 1926.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

Why Sad To-Day?

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

One And One.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

Lost Reality.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

A Youth's Suicide.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop, Simple Poetry

English

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Used Up.

Hand me my light gloves, James;
I'm off for the waltzing world,
The kingdom of Strauss and that -
Where is my old crush-hat?
Is my hair properly curled?
Call in the daytime, James.

Think of me, won't you, James,
When I am rosily twirling
The "Rose of a garden of girls,"
The Pearl among circling pearls,
In a mesh of melodious whirling?
Envy me, won't you, James?

For a heart lost along with her fan,
For a nice sense of honor flown,
For the care of an invalid soul,
And tastes far beyond my control, -
I have for my precious own
The fame of a "waltzing man."

If I don't come, come for me, James.
Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion!
The trip-tripping airs are as sweet
As love to my turning feet,
While I clasp t...

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

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--
...

George W. Doneghy

The Lonely Dancer

I had no heart to join the dance,
    I danced it all so long ago -
Ah! light-winged music out of France,
    Let other feet glide to and fro,
Weaving new patterns of romance
    For bosoms of new-fallen snow.

But leave me thus where I may hear
    The leafy rustle of the waltz,
The shell-like murmur in my ear,
    The silken whisper fairy-false
Of unseen rainbows circling near,
    And the glad shuddering of the walls.

Another dance the dancers spin,
    A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
And other partners enter in
    And dance within my lonely brain -
The swaying woodland shod in green,
    The ghostly dancers of the rain;

The lonely dancers of the sea,
    Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
The wizard dance of wind and tree,

Richard Le Gallienne

The Last Blossom

Though young no more, we still would dream
Of beauty's dear deluding wiles;
The leagues of life to graybeards seem
Shorter than boyhood's lingering miles.

Who knows a woman's wild caprice?
'It played with Goethe's silvered hair,
And many a Holy Father's "niece"
Has softly smoothed the papal chair.

When sixty bids us sigh in vain
To melt the heart of sweet sixteen,
We think upon those ladies twain
Who loved so well the tough old Dean.

We see the Patriarch's wintry face,
The maid of Egypt's dusky glow,
And dream that Youth and Age embrace,
As April violets fill with snow.

Tranced in her lord's Olympian smile
His lotus-loving Memphian lies, -
The musky daughter of the Nile,
With plaited hair and almond eyes.

Might...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Broken Waves.

The sun is lying on the garden-wall,
The full red rose is sweetening all the air,
The day is happier than a dream most fair;
The evening weaves afar a wide-spread pall,
And lo! sun, day, and rose, no longer there!

I have a lover now my life is young,
I have a love to keep this many a day;
My heart will hold it when my life is gray,
My love will last although my heart be wrung.
My life, my heart, my love shall fade away!

O lover loved, the day has only gone!
In death or life, our love can only go;
Never forgotten is the joy we know,
We follow memory when life is done:
No wave is lost in all the tides that flow.

Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

The Night Dance.

Strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high,
    And, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean,
Young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye,
    Obey the mute call and heave into motion.
Then, sound notes--the gayest, the lightest,
    That ever took wing, when heaven looked brightest!
            Again! Again!

Oh! could such heart-stirring music be heard
    In that City of Statues described by romancers,
So wakening its spell, even stone would be stirred,
    And statues themselves all start into dancers!

Why then delay, with such sounds in our ears,
    And the flower of Beauty's own garden before us,--
While stars overhead leave the song of their spheres,
    And listening to ours, hang wondering o'er us?
Again, that strain!--to hea...

Thomas Moore