THE SALON

Posted by Admin on 25 March 2008, 12:00 am

Hushed the silken susurration –
whisperings of lovely gowns:
hushed the pithy conversation –
sophistry and quips from clowns.
Star-bright jewels, flashing, flaming,
underneath the chandeliers;
Watteau’s art, and Sèvres proclaiming
wealth and taste, abundant years.
Powdered footmen, taut and solemn,
line the gilded salon’s wall,
each a white and amber column
where the crimson curtains fall.
Cheeks of shell-pink alabaster
flush, neglected by the fan,
lips now part, and hearts beat faster,
moved by genius in man.
Sternest critics there assembled –
aesthetes of the day’s bon ton –
in an ecstasy have trembled,
by a waltz or nocturne won.
Liszt and Sand, their eyes unlifted,
hear each chord or single note,
sent by hands divinely gifted
from the painted grand’s wide throat.