  I WATCHED the dancers as they twirled Around the candelabra’d room, And ladies, diamonded, pearled, Danced to the big brass jazz-band’s boom. Rustles of skirts, perfumes that pass, Faces aglow and eyes that beam; Floors lucid as a looking-glass, Lips glossy, puffed with crimson cream. And I am sad, I know not why With this illusive merriment; Candles that flicker out and die, Lilies that wither—youth that’s spent. |
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