Emmy's exquisite youth and her virginal air, <br />Eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile, <br />Come to me out of the past, and I see her there <br />As I saw her once for a while. <br /> <br />Emmy's laughter rings in my ears, as bright, <br />Fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook, <br />And still I hear her telling us tales that night, <br />Out of Boccaccio's book. <br /> <br />There, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall, <br />Leaning across the table, over the beer, <br />While the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball, <br />As the midnight hour drew near, <br /> <br />There with the women, haggard, painted and old, <br />One fresh bud in a garland withered and stale, <br />She, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told <br />Tale after shameless tale. <br /> <br />And ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled, <br />Paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun, <br />And the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child, <br />Or ever the tale was done. <br /> <br />O my child, who wronged you first, and began <br />First the dance of death that you dance so well? <br />Soul for soul: and I think the soul of a man <br />Shall answer for yours in hell.<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/emmy/
