I raise my glass and risk a glance,
Wanting and fearing her notice.
A gambler knows what wise men don’t:
That in these fickle moments lies
The balancing act of chance,
When the myriad angels dance on pins,
And gods will learn what Fortune grants.
The die is cast; I catch a glimpse,
—Her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her lips—
And see at once the fool I am again.