I think I loved you first when in your eyes
I saw the glad, rapt answer to the spell
Of Paderewski, when we heard him tell
Life's gentler meaning, Love's sweet sacrifice.
The master caught the rhythm of your sighs
And then, inspired, the story rose and fell
And sang of moonlight in a leafy dell,
Of souls' Arcadias and dreaming skies,
Of hearts and hopes and purposes that blend.
Your bosom heaved beneath the witcheries
That seemed to set a halo on his brow,
And then the message sobbed on to its end.
"That's fine," you murmured, chewing faster; "please
Ask him if he won't play 'Bedelia' now."