In a little Hungarian cafe <br />Men and women are drinking <br />Yellow wine in tall goblets. <br /> <br />Through the milky haze of the smoke, <br />The fiddler, under-sized, blond, <br />Leans to his violin <br />As to the breast of a woman. <br />Red hair kindles to fire <br />On the black of his coat-sleeve, <br />Where his white thin hand <br />Trembles and dives, <br />Like a sliver of moonlight, <br />When wind has broken the water.<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fiddler-6/
