Poetry Archives

Over the banisters bends a face,
   Daringly sweet and beguiling.
Somebody stands in careless grace
   And watching the picture, smiling.

The light burns dim in the hall below,
   Nobody sees her standing,
Saying good-night again, soft and low,
   Halfway up to the landing.

Nobody only the eyes of brown,
   Tender and full of meaning,
That smile on the fairest face in town,
   Over the banisters leaning.

Tired and sleepy, with drooping head,
   I wonder why she lingers;
Now, when the good-nights all are said,
   Why, somebody holds her fingers.

He holds her fingers and draws her down,
   Suddenly growing bolder,
Till the loose hair drops its masses brown
   Like a mantle over his shoulder.

Over the banisters soft hands, fair,
   Brush his cheeks like a feather,
And bright brown tresses and dusky hair
   Meet and mingle together.

There’s a question asked, there’s a swift caress,
   She has flown like a bird from the hallway,
But over the banisters drops a “Yes,”
   That shall brighten the world for him alway.