Only a Glove by Ella Wheeler Wilcox — Read

Only a glove that has touched her fingers, / But it seems to me something half divine. / A delicate fragrance about it lingers, / And it stirs my blood like wine -- / Yes, thrills and warms me like wine.

So well I remember the night she wore it -- / How I held the hand in its dainty glove, / And whispered sweetly as I leaned o'er it -- / Whispered a tale of love -- / A story of my mad love.

There was mirth, and music, and light and laughter, / The viols played and the dancers whirled. / We were part of it all -- but a moment after / Were alone in love's fair world -- / Alone in God's own world.

But now of that night of glow and splendour, / Of happy hope and beautiful love, / Of youthful dreams that were sweetly tender, / There is nothing left but a glove, / Nothing but this one glove.