H. C. Bunner - A Poem in the Programme lyrics

A thousand fans are fretting the hot air; Soft swells the music of the interlude Above the murmurous hum of talk subdued; But, from the noise withdrawn and from the glare, Deep in the shadowy box your coilèd hair Gleams golden bright, with diamonds bedewed; Your head is bent; I know your dark eyes brood On the poor sheet of paper you hold there, That quotes my verses, and I see no more That bald-head Plutus by your side. The seas Sound in my ears; I hear the rustling pines; Catch the low lisp of billows on the shore Where once I lay in Knickerbockered ease, And read to you those then unprinted lines.