Blanche Taylor Dickinson, "A Dark Actress -- Somewhere" (1928)
Each one poised with breath a tip- toe,
Felt his soul strings link with hers,
Loosed his heart and let it go
To her brown and tapering fingers,
Crushing it into a ball,
Throwing it with accuracy,
Smiling as she saw it fall.
Bending willow-like to music,
As a bird in willows, singing
Of a love that's so much fancy
From a dream marsh ever springing.
"Art," the critic said next day,
And people flocked to see her play.
Laid their fair hearts at her feet–
But never saw her on the street.
Published in The Crisis, September 1928