The Phantom of the Opera
       with apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson
 

I.
On either side the structure lie
Roads that stretch on toward the sky,
And 'neath the turrets reaching high
The carriages come rushing by
    The Paris Opera.
And up and down the people go,
Flitting like leaves before a blow,
Heedless of the soul below:
    Erik of the Opera.

He wears a mask; a cloak surrounds
His form when e'er he prowls around;
His hidden house beneath the ground
Is shrouded there by dark - and sound
    From performers at the Opera.
As the walls and domes and rooms
To grandiose heights above him loom,
The dark, dank cellars 'neath entomb
    This phantom of the Opera.

He listens as the chorus sings -
His lonesome house with music rings -
He loves them best above all things
And little treats and trinkets brings
    The actors at the Opera.
But who hath ever touched his hand?
Or in the corridors seen him stand?
Or is he known in all the land,
    Lone Erik of the Opera?

Only a handful, creeping early
In among the basements bleary
Hear a song, or think so (nearly)
But never yet have seen him clearly -
    This phantom of the Opera.
Or else the nighttime watchmen, weary,
Hear his voice sing soft and airy
And list'ning, whisper, "'Tis the fairy
    Phantom of the Opera."

II.
Beneath he weaves, by night and day,
A music web of colours gay ...
He has heard a whisper say
Some Fate befall him if he stay
    To dwell beneath the Opera.
He knows not what this Fate may be
And so composes steadily,
And goes the galas grand to see,
    The Phantom of the Opera.

Box Five provides a vista clear
Reserved for him throughout the year,
And shadows of the world appear
As he observes the company dear
    Onstage there, at the Opera.
There the ballet dancers whirl;
The actors backstage primp their curls;
He loves them, silly boys and girls
    That play there, at his Opera.

He longs to be among these glad
And gaudy people, costume-lad;
To circle thro' the crush-room mad;
But only when in night-time clad
    Dares he to roam the Opera.
And sometimes, strolls the midnight Rue
And passes lovers two-by-two;
He has no friend, nor lady true,
    Sad Erik of the Opera.

But in his music he delights
And sings his heart's most beautious sights;
For often thro' his lonely nights
He dreams of basking in the light
    At noon, outside the Opera.
But when the Moon is overhead,
He knows he is to Darkness wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
    The Phantom of the Opera.

III.
A lovely voice: like peals of thunder
Came to tear his world asunder;
From stories, vaults and flagstones under,
From far beneath his darkness-cover
    He heard Christine Daae.
Though for salvation he had prayed,
He'd never dreamed some chorus-maid
Possessed such talent as betrayed
    Sweet Mademoiselle Daae.

He'd seen her beauty glimmer free,
Like some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy -
And yet no happiness had she,
    Sorrowful miss Daae.
His heart for that poor child had wrung,
But no great passion had begun
Until she'd ope'd her throat and sung,
    The fair Christine Daae.

Her smooth white cheeks with tear-stains glow'd;
Her slippered feet the floorboards trode;
And all around her sad face flow'd
Her tumbling curls of glimm'ring gold
    As she mourned her Papa Daae.
Through her dressing room's great mirror
Her misery flowed, a music-river;
Her sorrow made her singing quiver,
    Frightened Mademoiselle Daae.

She sang alone, to soothe her brain,
To calm the terror of her pain;
And far beneath her, Erik strained
To hear the flawless soft refrain
    Of timid Christine Daae.
His heart with awe-struck wonder strove;
His impulse was to dash above;
He burned with all-consuming love
    For lonesome Christine Daae.

He left his music, left his room,
Ran on cat-feet thro' the gloom,
Ever chasing Christine's tune
Till he reached her dressing room
    And beheld his Angel of Opera.
His own soft singing floated wide;
The mirror ope'd from side to side;
"Then let Fate come upon me," sighed
    The Phantom of the Opera.

IV.
She heard an angel, saw a man
Who offered her his outstretched hand.
He told her of his secret land
And gently, trusting as a lamb,
    She followed him 'neath the Opera.
Down they came to find his boat
On midnight waters left afloat,
And off into the darkness rowed
    These angels, singing opera.

And in the labyrinth's dim expanse,
Each with a joyful countenance,
The bashful lovers grasped their chance
In spite of their own innocence
    And sang beneath the Opera.
And at the closing of the day
They loosed their hearts to love betray;
The music bore them far away,
    These angels of the Opera.

Until the day she saw his face -
That which he masked in trained disgrace -
That made him flee the human race,
Their cruelties and their prejudice
    To dwell beneath the Opera.
He'd hoped that she would find a way
To love the man that inside lay;
Instead she fainted dead away,
    His Angel of the Opera.

V.
He sadly he bore her back above.
And when a Viscount offered love -
For by singing Christine strove
But failed to find her vanished love -
    She consented to leave the Opera.
But she would sing for him once more;
And to relieve the pain she bore,
Through music, spoke her true love for
    The Phantom of the Opera.

From Box Five followed such a sight
That patrons stared from left and right:
A well-dressed man, mask gleaming white,
Sang and electrified the night -
    The Phantom of the Opera!
The managers started, rushed along
The baffled theatre-hands among
Who stood and wondered at the song
    Of angels at the Opera.

Their song was loving, mournful, holy,
Sobbing loudly, whispering lowly,
And their tears came dropping slowly;
Each heart to th'other fastened wholly
    That evening at the Opera.
But ebbing yet was music's tide,
And though she hurried to his side,
Singing in their duet he died
    In the arms of his Angel of Opera.

In from the curtained balcony
Rushed Christine's baffled fiancè;
The managers followed on him quickly,
And all came crowding 'round to see
    This mystery at the Opera.
Out from all the stalls they came,
Duke and Lady, Count and Dame,
And through the crowd rippled his name -
    "The Phantom of the Opera ..."

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the great Dress Circle near
Died the sounds of noble cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
    The patrons of the Opera.
But Christine knelt and sobbed a space:
"I could have learned to love his face ...
God in His mercy lend him grace,
    My Angel of the Opera."