Romance

Romance, a play boy who is born each spring
To teach the nightingale to sing
Romance, a legend on an old brocade,
A prince who tells a country maid: «I love you».
Now where this whimsy comes from, I don’t know;
For when it comes it’s just about to go.
Romance, a flower that will bloom awhile
With sunshine from a lover’s smile,
That lover’s tears bedew! Ah!
Yet, when I seek this beauty,
Flower of youth’s first dawning,
I find a prosy work-a-day world
Stretching and yawning!
Love is locked up in cages,
Kept for a poet’s pages;
Life and adventure
Don’t seem to be paying attention to me!
And so I dream of fair Romance
And let my fancies weave pretty stories.
And tho' I know they are not so,
I like to go wand’ring amid their wistful glories.
My princes become what I mold them,
And they stay for the breath of a sigh!
I open my arms to enfold them,
And they’re gone like a breeze rushing by.
Ah, this is a humdrum world,
But when I dream I set it dancing.
When life is gray, I have a way to keep it gay,
Passing the time of day with love.