At the Opera



THE CURTAIN rose—the play began—
   The limelight on the gay garbs shone;
   Yet carelessly I gazed upon
The painted players, maid and man,
   As one with idle eyes who sees
   The marble figures on a frieze.
Long lark-notes clear the first act close,
   So the soprano: then a hush—
   The tenor, tender as a thrush;
Then loud and high the chorus rose,
   Till, with a sudden rush and strong,
   It ended in a storm of song.

The curtain fell—the music died—
   The lights grew bright, revealing there
   The flash of jewelled fingers fair,
And wreaths of pearls on brows of pride;
   Then, with a quick-flushed cheek, I turned,
   And into mine her dark eyes burned.

Such eyes but once a man may see,
   And, seeing once, his fancy dies
   To thought of any other eyes:
So shadow-soft, they seemed to be
   Twin haunted lakes, lit by the gleams
   Of a mysterious moon of dreams.

Silk lashes veiled their liquid light
   With such a shade as tall reeds fling
   From the lake-marge at sunsetting:
Their darkness might have hid the night—
   Yet whoso saw their glance would say
   Night dreamt therein, and saw the day.

Long looked I at them, wondering
   What tender memories were hid
   Beneath each blue-veined lily-lid;
What hopes of joys the years would bring;
   What griefs? In vain: I might not guess
   The secret of their silentness.

What of her face? Her face, meseems,
   Was such as painters see who muse
   By moonlight in dim avenues,
Yet cannot paint; or as in dreams,
   Young poets see, but, when they try
   To limn in verse are dumb—so I.

Yet well I know that I have seen
   That sweet face in the long ago
   In a rose-bower—well I know—
Laughing the singing leaves between,
   In that strange land of rose and rhyme—
   The land of Once upon a Time.

O unknown sweet, so sweetly known,
   I know not what your name may be—
   Madonna is your name for me—
Nor where your lines in life are thrown;
   But soul sees soul—what is the rest?
   A passing phantom at the best.

Did your young bosom never glow
   To love? or burns your heart beneath
   As burns the rosebud in its sheath?
I neither know nor wish to know:
   I smell the rose upon the tree;
   Who will may pluck and wear, for me—

May wear the rose, and watch it die,
   And, leaf by red leaf, fade and fall,
   Till there be nothing left at all
Of its sweet loveliness; but I
   Love it so well, I leave it free—
   The scent alone I take with me!

As one who visits sacred spots
   Brings tokens back, so I from you
   A glance, a smile, a rapture new!
And these are my forget-me-nots!
   I take from you but only these—
   Give all the rest to whom you please.

Sweet eyes, your glance a light shall cast
   On me, when dreaded ghosts arise
   Of dead regrets with shrouded eyes,
And phantoms of the perished past,
   Old thoughts, old hopes, and old desire
   Gather around my lonely fire!

Farewell! In rhyme, I kiss your hand—
   Kiss not unsweet, although unheard!—
   This is our secret—say no word—
That I have been in Fairyland,
   And seen for one brief moment’s space
   The Queen Titania face to face.

Font size:
Collection  PDF     
 

Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

2:46 min read
118

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABXACCXDDXEE FGGFHH IJJIKK LMELNN MOOMXC CPPKQQ RSSRTT BIIBUU SVVSII QWWQII XYYXCC ZJJZ1 1 2 3 3 2 4 4
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 3,071
Words 555
Stanzas 13
Stanza Lengths 12, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6

Victor James Daley

Victor James William Patrick Daley was an Australian poet. more…

All Victor James Daley poems | Victor James Daley Books

0 fans

Discuss the poem At the Opera with the community...

0 Comments

    Translation

    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)

    Citation

    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

    Style:MLAChicagoAPA

    "At the Opera" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Mar. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/37487/at-the-opera>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    March 2024

    Poetry Contest

    Join our monthly contest for an opportunity to win cash prizes and attain global acclaim for your talent.
    2
    days
    14
    hours
    21
    minutes

    Special Program

    Earn Rewards!

    Unlock exciting rewards such as a free mug and free contest pass by commenting on fellow members' poems today!

    Browse Poetry.com

    Quiz

    Are you a poetry master?

    »
    Who wrote the epic poem "Os Lusíadas" in 1572?
    A Luís de Camões
    B Fernando Pessoa
    C Cesário Verde
    D Miguel Cervantes