Well! there in our front-row box we sat
Together, my bride-betrothed and I;
My gaze was fixt on my opera-hat,
And hers on the stage hard by.
And both were silent, and both were sad.
Like a queen, she leaned on her full white arm,
With that regal, indolent air she had;
So confident of her charm!
I have not a doubt she was thinking then
Of her former lord, good soul that he was!
Who died the richest and roundest of men,
The Marquis of Carabas.
I hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven,
Through a needle's eye he had not yet to pass;
I wish him well for the jointure given
To my lady of Carabas.
Meanwhile I was thinking of my first love,
As I had not been thinking of aught for years,
Till over my eyes there began to move
Something that felt like tears.
I thought of the dress that she wore last time,
When we stood, 'neath the cypress-trees, together,
In that lost land, in that soft clime,
In the crimson evening weather;
Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot),
And her warm, white neck in its golden chain.
And her full, soft hair, just tied in a knot,
And falling loose again;
And the jasmine-flower in her fair, young breast;
Oh, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine-flower,
And the one bird singing alone to his nest,
And the one star over the tower.
I thought of our little quarrels and strife,
And the letter that brought me back my ring,
And it all seemed then, in the waste of life,
Such a very little thing!
For I thought of her grave below the hill,
Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over.
And I thought ... "were she only living still,
How I could forgive her and love her."