MATINEE
Reading edition
They pass the window Where I sit at work, In silks and furs And boots and hats All of the latest mode. They chatter as they pass Of various things But hardly hear the words they speak So tense are they Upon a life they know begins for them At 2:15. Within the theatre The air is pungent with the mixed perfumes, More scents than ever blew from Araby. And there's a rapid hum Of some six hundred secrets; Then sudden hush As tongues and violins cease. The play is on. There is a hastening of the beat Of some six hundred hearts. There're twitches soon about the lips, And later copious tears From waiting eyes; But all this time There are six hundred separate souls The playwright's puppet has to woo, To win, to humor, or to cajole, Until, with master stroke Of Devil knowledge, Or old Adam's, He crushes in his manful arms The languid heroine And forcing back her golden head Implants the kiss. And then against his heaving breast The hero feels the beatings of six hundred hearts In mighty unison, And on his lips there is the pulse Of that one lingering kiss Returned six-hundred fold.