Destroyers and Other Verses/Watteauesque

by Henry Head

 

Watteauesque.

There he stands, in exquisite array,
Bending forward with half-opened lips,
Wondering if perchance he dare to pay
Homage to her rosy finger tips.

She is gay with every tender grace,
Artificial, admirably vain—
And the smile on her averted face
Fills his shallow heart with jealous pain.

Overhead the pearly storm clouds brood;
To the twang of lute and mandolin,
She must be fantastically wooed,
Prelude to a love he cannot win.

Hand in hand we'll dance a little while,
As they danced a hundred years ago;
Then you'll ask my favour—I shall smile,
And our separate journeys we will go.

Paris, Spring, 1849.