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Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill-- Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until Somewhere a clock starts chiming.... It is late.... Out through the dark wan tenderness and hate Press pale kisses upon the city's lips-- Dawn comes creeping, the weary nighttime slips Furtively by, like some hurt thief with plunder.... Dear, I cross to my window, and I wonder Whether you are asleep, or if you lie, Sleepless beneath the smoke-hung purple sky.... Down in the streets the tired city vaguely clatters, Here alone in my room I stand, and nothing matters, Only.... I love you! THE BALCONY SCENES The stage is set, like a garden, And the lights are flickering and low; And a Romeo with fat legs, Is telling a Juliet with dyed hair and tired, disillusioned eyes, That love--real love--is the only thing in the world. And up in the balcony of the theatre Where the seats cost twenty-five cents, A slim little girl in a shiny serge frock, And a boy with a wistful mouth Are holding hands. And as they listen, breathlessly, to the studied voice of the actor, Their fingers are all a-thrill, With the music of the ages. A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP A dusty, musty little shop set in a dingy street, A doorsill old and scarred and worn by many tired feet, A row of cases, vaguely glassed, a safe against the wall, And, oh, the ache of many hearts--the fabric of it all! A violin with broken strings that fingers have caressed, A diamond-set betrothal ring that lover's lips have pressed, A high shell comb, a spangled fan, a filmy bit of lace, A heart-shaped locket, ribbon-tied, that frames a laughing face. A pair of blankets folded up, an overcoat, a shawl, A tall old clock that might have chimed in some wainscoted hall, And in the farthest corner, where the purple shadows lie, The echo of a woman's sob, the phantom of a sigh. Ah, wedding-rings--a score of them--not many of them new, A grim revolver laid beside a baby's tiny shoe, A satin coat, a ragged gown, a gold-clasped book of verse, A necklace of bedraggled pearls, an empty silver purse.
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