LA DIVA.
A sea of faces ripple round her where,
As on a sunny isle, the Diva glows
Behind the footlights like a full-blown rose;
A hush expectant fills the brooding air.
But hist, O hist! what dying cygnet there?
How bubbling from her alabaster throat
Pours forth the wave of every passion’s note—
Hope, fear, love’s ecstasy, and blank despair?
A moment’s silence ere the plaudits rise,
Till like a storm they beat the trembling walls,
And white hands plash like wave-crests to the skies.
Alas! ’tis o’er, the jealous curtain falls;
And as the tumult of our rapture dies,
A misty curtain veils our happy eyes.