In through the open window
    To the chamber where I lay,
There came the beat of merry feet,
    From the dancers over the way.
And back on the wings of the music
    That rose on the midnight air,
My rare youth came and spoke my name,
    And lo! I was young and fair.

Once more in the glitter of gaslight
    I stood in my life's glad prime:
And heart and feet in a rhythm sweet
    Were keeping the music's time.
Like a leaf in the breeze of summer
    I drifted down the hall,
On an arm that is cold with death and mould,
    And is hidden under the pall.

Once more at a low voice's whisper
    (A voice that is long since stilled)
I felt the flush of a rising blush,
    And my pulses leaped and thrilled.
Once more in a sea of faces,
    I only saw one face;
And life grew bright with a new delight,
    And sweet with a nameless grace.

A crash of passionate music,
    A hush and a silence then;
The dancers rest in their pleasure quest,
    And lo! I am old again.
Old and alone in my chamber,
    While the night wears wearily on,
And the pallid wraith of a broken faith--
    Keeps watch with me till the dawn.

Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.

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