(To Kitty. Her Reverie.)

It is soiled and quite passe, Broken too, and out of fashion, But it stirs my heart some way, As I hold it here to-day, With a dead year’s grace and passion. Oh, my pretty fan!

Precious dream and thrilling strain, Rise up from that vanished season; Back to heart and nerve and brain Sweeps the joy as keen as pain, Joy that asks no cause or reason. Oh, my dainty fan!

Hopes that perished in a night Gaze at me like spectral faces; Grim despair and lost delight, Sorrow long since gone from sight-- All are hiding in these laces. Oh, my broken fan!

Let us lay the thing away-- I am sadder now and older; Fled the ball-room and the play-- You have had your foolish day, And the night and life are colder. Exit--little fan!