A Dirge

Death and a dirge at midnight;          Yet never a soul in the house     Heard anything more than the throb and beat          Of a beautiful waltz of Strauss.     Dead, dead, dead, and staring,          With a ghastly smile on its face;     But the world saw only laughing eyes          And roses, and billows of lace.     Floating and whirling together,          Into the beautiful night,     How little you dreamed of the ghastly thing          I was hiding away from your sight.     Meeting your dark eyes' splendour,          Feeling your warm, sweet breath,     How could you know that my passionate heart          Had died a horrible death?     Died in its fever and fervour,          Died in its beautiful bloom;     And that waltz of Strauss was a funeral dirge,          Leading the way to the tomb.     But you held my hand at parting,          And I smiled back a gay good night;     And you never knew of the ghastly corpse          I was hiding away from your sight.     Yet whenever I hear the Danube -          Under its pulsing strain,     I catch the wail of the funeral dirge,          And my heart dies over again.