Won !

A man and a woman dance in a Victorian conservatory. The man holds the woman’s hand and waist, and he looks at her face. The woman turns her head to the side and looks at the ground. There are potted plants on the ground around the perimeter of the room. One pot is overturned near the man’s feet; there is a small shovel beside this pot. Several vines and other leafy plants hang from the ceiling. In the background, an older man sits in a chair and watches the couple from another room. He is seated in the shadows. 1/2-page illustration contained within a single-ruled border.
A start—a pause—a flutter and a sigh,1
A voice that trembles in the common greeting ;2
The hurried clasp of an unready hand,3
That once was frankly offered at your meeting.4
I saw you, little Annie—yes, I know,5
He’s Charlie’s friend, just landed from Bengal,6
He’s very fond of Charlie, ah ! and so7
He stay’d till last at Charlie’s sister’s ball.8
You danced eight times together—am I right9
He’s such a perfect waltzer ”— nothing more ?10
You met a week ago this very night,11
And I have—known you all your lifetime o’er !12
Forgive me that I played the list’ner, dear,13
And heard him win your love, amongst your flowers ;14
You had forgotten I was prisoned here,15
A poor lone cripple all these festive hours,16
He’s very winsome, honest-eyed, and tall,17
The cross for valour’s roll contains his story.18
On my pain-stricken brow no wreath will fall,19
I reap in Life’s grim battle all but glory.20
Dearie, don’t kneel, and hide those kind grey eyes,21
I am not grieving, look me in the face.22
Why, who am I, that I should claim the prize,23
Who never could have started in the race ?24
He’s waiting for you, Annie—leave me now25
Alone with what must be a happy past.26
A brother’s kiss I claim upon your brow,27
God bless you, Annie, ’tis my first—and last.28