<h2><SPAN name="page20"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>“ARTIST’S LIFE”</h2>
<p class="poetry">Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote,<br/>
Mad with melody, rhythm—rife<br/>
From the very first to the final note.<br/>
Give me his “Artist’s Life!”</p>
<p class="poetry">It stirs my blood to my finger-ends,<br/>
Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest,<br/>
And all that is sweetest and saddest blends<br/>
Together within my breast.</p>
<p class="poetry">It brings back that night in the dim arcade,<br/>
In love’s sweet morning and life’s best
prime,<br/>
When the great brass orchestra played and played,<br/>
And set our thoughts to rhyme.</p>
<p class="poetry">It brings back that Winter of mad delights,<br/>
Of leaping pulses and tripping feet,<br/>
And those languid moon-washed Summer nights<br/>
When we heard the band in the street.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page21"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
21</span>It brings back rapture and glee and glow,<br/>
It brings back passion and pain and strife,<br/>
And so of all the waltzes I know,<br/>
Give me the “Artist’s Life.”</p>
<p class="poetry">For it is so full of the dear old
time—<br/>
So full of the dear old friends I knew.<br/>
And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme,<br/>
I am always finding—<i>you</i>.</p>
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