Dancer Poem by Clark Ashton Smith
Dancer
O dancer with the dove-swift feet and hands,
So palely swaying
Against the moon's replenished rondure,
Thou treadest not this autumn ground alone:
But in my heart, as in some high-piled press,
Dancing, thou crushest out with thy wan feet
A vintage strong, a wine sanguinolent
That shall restore the summer.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
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5/4/2024 6:55:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Beautifully written, makes the heart pirouettes! PEACE