I wish that I could somehow see
The things its walls have seen
And hear the things its rafters heard
All those years between
The year that it first opened
And the year that it closed down,
When people came to the Opera House
For entertainment in our town.
There were promenades and comic shows,
Recitals, games, and plays,
And dances where the young at heart
Would dance the latest craze.
There were musicals and farces,
Concerts small and great,
And philosophic lectures
About life and love and fate.
And in the wings the actors,
On fine dramatic nights,
Took the stage with grease paint on
And spoke into the lights,
While audiences young and old,
Dressed smartly to the nines,
Would laugh or cry or clap their hands
Responding to the lines.
Now the House is silent.
The fixtures turned to rust.
And on the stage there's nothing
But spider webs and dust.
But the clock up in its tower
And the shops down at its feet
Lure my imagination
As I pass by on the street.
And I wish that I could somehow see
The things its walls have seen
And hear the things its rafters heard
All those years between.
|