And the lovers stand at the open door;
The maid shyly whispers, “Will they know?”
Her eyes seem fastened to the floor:
Fond he looks down on the fair young face—
“All will see
That my arms are empty,” he said,
“And no kisses cling to your lips so red.”
They join the dancers’ merry whirl,
The room is filled with beauties fair;
With cheeks aflush and ruffled curl,