Explore "At the Play" by Gilbert Parker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I felt her fan my shoulder touch to-night.
Soft act, faint touch, no meaning did it bear / To any save myself, who felt the air / Of a new feeling cross my soul's clear sight.
To me what matter that the players played!
They grew upon the instant like the toys / Which dance before the sight of idle boys; / I could not hear the laughter that they made.
Swept was I on that breath her hand had drawn, / Through the dull air, into a mountain-space, / Where shafts of the bright sun-god interlace,
Making the promise of a golden dawn.
And straightway crying, "O my heart, rejoice!"
It found its music in my lady's voice.