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Amy Lowell - An Opera House Op 120 Lyrics

Within the gold square of the proscenium arch
A curtain of orange velvet hangs in stiff folds
Its tassels jarring slightly when someone crosses the stage behind
Gold carving edges the balconies
Rims the boxes
Runs up and down fluted pillars
Little knife-stabs of gold
Shine out whenever a box door is opened
Gold clusters
Flash in soft explosions
On the blue darkness
Suck back to a point
And disappear
Hoops of gold
Circle necks, wrists, fingers
Pierce ears
Poisе on heads
And fly up above them in colourеd sparkles
Gold!
Gold!
The opera house is a treasure-box of gold
Gold in a broad smear across the orchestra pit:
Gold of horns, trumpets, tubas;
Gold — spun-gold, twittering-gold, snapping-gold
Of harps
The conductor raises his baton
The brass blares out
Crass, crude
Parvenu, fat, powerful
Golden
Rich as the fat, clapping hands in the boxes
Cymbals, gigantic, coin-shaped
Crash
The orange curtain parts
And the prima-donna steps forward
One note
A drop: transparent, iridescent
A gold bubble
It floats . . . floats . .
And bursts against the lips of a bank president
In the grand tier