We are so tired, and perhaps tomorrow 
Will never come; be fugitive awhile 
From tears, and let the dancing drtnk your sorrow
As it has drunk the colour of your smile. 

Your face is like a mournful pearl, my darling; 
Go, set a rose of rouge upon its white, 
And stop your ears against the tiger-snarling 
Where lightning stripes the thunder of the night. 

Now falling, falling, feather after feather, 
The music spreads a softness on the ground; 
Now for an instant we are held together 
Hidden within a swinging mist of sound. 

Forget these frustrate and unhappy lovers; 
Forget that he is sad and she is pale; 
Come, let us dream the little death that hovers 
Pensive as heaven in a cloudy veil.