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Poem by Lola Ridge


The Fiddler


In a little Hungarian cafe
Men and women are drinking
Yellow wine in tall goblets.

Through the milky haze of the smoke,
The fiddler, under-sized, blond,
Leans to his violin
As to the breast of a woman.
Red hair kindles to fire
On the black of his coat-sleeve,
Where his white thin hand
Trembles and dives,
Like a sliver of moonlight,
When wind has broken the water.



Lola Ridge


Lola Ridge's other poems:
  1. Scandal
  2. Dispossed
  3. North Wind
  4. Broadway
  5. Manhattan


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Hardy The Fiddler ("The fiddler knows whatТs brewing")
  • Marion Angus The Fiddler ("A fine player was he")

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