There was no real moon in all the soft, clouded night, The rats of night had eaten the silver cheese, Though here and there a forgotten crumb of old brightness Gleamed and was blotted. But there was no real moon, No bowl of nacre, dripping an old delusive Stain on the changed, strange grass, making faces strange; There was only a taste of warm rain not yet fallen, A wine-colored dress, turned black because of no moon, —It would have been spangled in moon⁠—and a broadcloth coat, And two voices talking together, quite softly, quite calmly. The dance. Such a lovely dance. But you dance so lightly. Amanda dances so well. But you dance so lightly. Louisa looks so pretty in pink, don’t you think? Are you fond of Scott? Yes, I’m very fond of Scott. Elegant extracts from gilt-edged volumes called Keepsakes And Godey’s Lady’s Book words. If I were a girl,