Good-night

GOOD-NIGHT to thee, Lady! tho’ many

Have join’d in the dance of to-night,

Thy form was the fairest of any,

Where all was seducing and bright;

Thy smile was the softest and dearest,

Thy form the most sylph-like of all,

And thy voice the most gladsome and clearest

That e’er held a partner in thrall.

Good-night to thee, Lady! ’t is over—

The waltz, the quadrille, and the song—

The whisper’d farewell of the lover,

The heartless adieu of the throng;

The heart that was throbbing with pleasure,

The eye-lid that long’d for repose—

The beaux that were dreaming of treasure,

The girls that were dreaming of beaux.

’T is over—the lights are all dying,

The coaches are driving away;

And many a fair one is sighing,

And many a false one is gay;

And Beauty counts over her numbers

Of conquests, as homeward she drives—

And some are gone home to their slumbers,

And some are gone home to their wives.

And I, while my cab in the shower

Is waiting, the last at the door,

Am looking all round for the flower

That fell from your wreath on the floor.

I’ll keep it—if but to remind me,

Though wither’d and faded its hue—

Wherever next season may find me—

Of England—of Almack’s—and you!

There are tones that will haunt us, tho’ lonely

Our path be o’er mountain, or sea;

There are looks that will part from us only

When memory ceases to be;

There are hopes which our burthen can lighten,

Tho’ toilsome and steep be the way;

And dreams that, like moonlight, can brighten

With a light that is clearer than day.

There are names that we cherish, tho’ nameless,

For aye on the lip they may be;

There are hearts, tho’ fetter’d, are tameless,

And thoughts unexpress’d, but still free!

And some are too grave for a rover,

And some for a husband too light,—

The Ball and my dream are all over—

Good-night to thee, Lady, Good-night!

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