At a Piano Recital by Ruth Collie — Read

To think those fingers, a little while ago, were busy with small / tasks, friendly and intimate; fastening a buckle of a shoe, and / smoothing out a bow, groping to find a watch, for fear the hour be / late! To think those fingers coiled that blue-black hair and strayed / among the folds of that gold dress; and then, like restless birds, / fluttering here and there, brushed each arched eyebrow with a light / caress. To think those fingers deigned to do such things -- they that / have power to weave a potent spell to bear the heart aloft on eagle's / wings, or drown the soul beneath the music's swell. Fingers / interpreting the mind in pain; or dance of fairies round a moonlit / tree; quarrels and love; fierce sun and gentle rain; and then the / spirit's shining ecstasy. The whole of life flowing through fingers / white! To think those fingers will let loose black hair, fling off / gold dress, and late, this very night, lie, like good children, / wrapped in dreams most fair!