and frankincense and spice, And echoing yet the flutes of Paradise . . .

 

 

 

 

The Dance

Do you remember that day I danced in the woods, Under the dancing leaves? Do you remember the delicate blue of the sky And the gold-dust in the air? And the tawny harvest fields, and the heavy sheaves? Summer was surely in one of her bravest moods . . . And oh, the rare Swift joy that lifted life to an ecstasy, That shining day I danced for you, dear, in the woods!

The purple twilight came, and the amber moon . . . And the fairies danced with me . . . And the shy fauns crept from the tangled thicket near, And the startled dryads bent, White and starry-eyed, each from her secret tree, To watch that mystical dance, to share that heavenly swoon That mad, bright banishment. . . . For we were free in the perfect country, dear, When purple twilight came and the amber moon . . .

Some day I shall dance again that mystical dance . . . I know not when or where! But the angels shall dance with me, and I shall not be afraid. I shall look in their deep eyes . . . And feel their arms about me, and their kisses in my hair, And know that time is over, and the desperate ways of chance. . . . I shall be very wise, And glad at last, and the walls of the world shall fade . . . The day when I dance again that mystical dance.

 

 

 

 

The Prisoner of God

 Prev. P 9/19 next