Victor Hofman (1882–1911)

STILL was the evening of the ball,

The summer ball, with dancers wending

Where ancient linden shadows fall

Upon the river steeply bending;

Where in the trees the breezes breathe

And willows droop like drowsy dreamers;

Where it seemed beautiful to wreathe

The lanterns and the colored streamers.

A languorous waltz of slow retreatings,

A waltz that singing hardly sounded;

And many faces, many meetings,

Soft clouds like women’s shoulders rounded.

The river looked a sculptured stream,

Serenely the whole heaven holding,—

A fluent and enchanted dream

Of joyous miracles unfolding.

A crimson mantle, golden-bright,

Upon the clouds the sun was flinging;

The dream-swept waltz was drowned in light,

And calling through the dusk and singing.

A languorous waltz beside the river,

And many meetings, many faces,

And near cheeks’ warmth, and lovely quiver

Where eyelash with curved eyelash laces.