AT AN OLD DRAWER

Before this scarf was faded,
    What hours of mirth it knew;
How gayly it paraded
    For smiling eyes to view.
The days were tinged with glory,
    The nights too quickly sped,
And life was like a story
    Where all the people wed.

Before this rosebud wilted,
    How passionately sweet
The wild waltz swelled and lilted
    In time for flying feet;
How loud the bassoons muttered,
    The horns grew madly shrill,
And, oh! the vows lips uttered
    That hearts could not fulfill.

Before this fan was broken,
    Behind its lace and pearl
What whispered words were spoken,
    What hearts were in a whirl;
What homesteads were selected
    In Fancy's realm of Spain,
What castles were erected
    Without a room for pain.

When this odd glove was mated,
    How thrilling seemed the play;
    Maybe our hearts are sated--
    We tire so soon to-day.
O, thrust away these treasures,
    They speak the dreary truth;
We have outgrown the pleasures
    And keen delights of youth.

Poems of reflection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago, M.A. Donohue & company [c1905].


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