Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/50

38

The winds have scattered it. A braid Of the first Spring day’s golden shade, Waves with the dark plumes on his crest. Fresh colours are upon his breast: The slight blue scarf, of simplest fold, Is changed for one of woven gold. And he is by a maiden’s side, Whose gems of price, and robes of pride, Would suit the daughter of a king; And diamonds are glistening Upon her arm. There’s not one curl Unfastened by a loop of pearl. And he is whispering in her ear Soft words that ladies love to hear. Alas!—the tale is quickly told— His love hath felt the curse of gold!