My heart is an old house, and in that forlorn old house, <br />In the very centre, dark and forgotten, <br />Is a locked room where an enchanted princess <br />Lies sleeping. <br />But sometimes, in that dark house, <br />As if almost from the stars, far away, <br />Sounds whisper in that secret room — <br />Faint voices, music, a dying trill of laughter? <br />And suddenly, from her long sleep, <br />The beautiful princess awakes and dances. <br />Who is she? I do not know. <br />Why does she dance? Do not ask me! — <br />Yet to-day, when I saw you, <br />When I saw your eyes troubled with the trouble of happiness, <br />And your mouth trembling into a smile, <br />And your fingers pull shyly forward, — <br />Softly, in that room, <br />The little princess arose <br />And danced; <br />And as she danced the old house gravely trembled <br />With its vague and delicious secret.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/improvisations-light-and-snow-13/
