The notes still float upon the air,

Just as they did that night.

I see the old piano there,—

Oh, that again I might!

Her young voice haunts my eager ear;

Her hair in the candle-light

Still seems an aureole,—a tear

Is my spectroscope to-night.

I hear her trembling tell me "No,"

And I know that she answered right

But I throw a kiss to the stars, and though

She be wed she will dream to-night.