AN OLD FAN.

It is soiled and quite passe,

Broken too, and out of fashion,

But it stirs my heart some way,

As I hold it here to-day,

With a dead year’ s grace and passion.

Oh, my pretty fan!

Precious dream and thrilling strain,

Rise up from that vanished season;

Back to heart and nerve and brain

Sweeps the joy as keen as pain,

Joy that asks no cause or reason.

Oh, my dainty fan!

Hopes that perished in a night

Gaze at me like spectral faces;

Grim despair and lost delight,

Sorrow long since gone from sight —

All are hiding in these laces.

Oh, my broken fan!

Let us lay the thing away —

I am sadder now and older;

Fled the ball-room and the play —

You have had your foolish day,

And the night and life are colder.

Exit — little fan!