The warm, gray walls and the odor of musk,
The wine, the piano, the glistening feet,
The eyes grown hazy like shadows at dusk,
The minstreling music that rose from the street.
I thought of Elise with her soft, gold hair;
And the buttonhook hung from the chandelier.
The spirit of passionate youth had been there—
But somehow the dream of it wasn’t quite clear,
For the place had been altered; the walls were red,
And the woodwork was stained with a desolate brown;