Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)

At The Hop



‘Tis time to dress. Dost hear the music surging
 Like sobbing waves that roll up from the sea?
Yes, yes, I hear – I yield – no need of urging;
 I know your wishes, - send Lisette to me.

I hate the ballroom; hate its gilded pleasure;
 I hate the crowd within it, well you know;
But what of that? I am your lawful treasure –
 And when you would display me I must go.

You bought me with a mother’s pain and trouble.
 I’ve been a great expense to you always.
And now, if you can sell me, and get double
 The sum cost – why, what have I to say?

You’ve done your duty: kept me in the fashion,
 And shown off me at every stylish place.
‘Twas not your fault I had a heart of passion;
 ‘Twas not your fault I ever saw his face.

The dream was brief, and beautiful, and tender,
 (O, God! to live those golden hours once more.
The silver moonlight, and his dark eyes’ splendour,
 The sky above us, and the sea below.)

Come, come, Lisette, bring out those royal laces;
 To-night must make the victory complete.
Among the crowd of masked and smiling faces,
 I’ll move with laughter, and with smiles most sweet.

Make me most fair! with youth and grace and beauty.
 I needs must conquer bloated age and gold.
She shall not say I have not done my duty;
 I’m ready now – a daughter to be sold!

Font size:
 

Submitted on May 13, 2011

1:15 min read
131 Views

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American author and poet. more…

All Ella Wheeler Wilcox poems | Ella Wheeler Wilcox Books

FAVORITE (1 fan)

Discuss this Ella Wheeler Wilcox poem with the community:

0 Comments

    Translation

    Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

    Select another language:

    • - Select -
    • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
    • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
    • Español (Spanish)
    • Esperanto (Esperanto)
    • 日本語 (Japanese)
    • Português (Portuguese)
    • Deutsch (German)
    • العربية (Arabic)
    • Français (French)
    • Русский (Russian)
    • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
    • 한국어 (Korean)
    • עברית (Hebrew)
    • Gaeilge (Irish)
    • Українська (Ukrainian)
    • اردو (Urdu)
    • Magyar (Hungarian)
    • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
    • Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Italiano (Italian)
    • தமிழ் (Tamil)
    • Türkçe (Turkish)
    • తెలుగు (Telugu)
    • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
    • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
    • Čeština (Czech)
    • Polski (Polish)
    • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
    • Românește (Romanian)
    • Nederlands (Dutch)
    • Ελληνικά (Greek)
    • Latinum (Latin)
    • Svenska (Swedish)
    • Dansk (Danish)
    • Suomi (Finnish)
    • فارسی (Persian)
    • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
    • հայերեն (Armenian)
    • Norsk (Norwegian)
    • English (English)

    Citation

    Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:

    Style:MLAChicagoAPA

    "At The Hop" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 26 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/10538/at-the-hop>.

    Become a member!

    Join our community of poets and poetry lovers to share your work and offer feedback and encouragement to writers all over the world!

    More poems by

    Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    »

    Browse Poetry.com

    Quiz

    Are you a poetry master?

    »
    "It's neither red nor sweet. It doesn't melt or turn over, break or harden, so it can't feel pain."
    • A. Rita Dove
    • B. Billy Collins
    • C. Anne Sexton
    • D. Marianne Moore

    Our favorite collection of

    Famous Poets

    »