Julia Ward Howe

(1819 - 1910 / United States)

My Last Dance - Poem by Julia Ward Howe

The shell of objects inwardly consumed
Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;
Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,
Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.
Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,
Yet crumble at the breath of a caress;
The golden fruitage hides the scathèd bough,
Snatch it, thou scatterest wide its emptiness.
For pleasure bidden, I went forth last night
To where, thick hung, the festal torches gleamed;
Here were the flowers, the music, as of old,
Almost the very olden time it seemed.
For one with cheek unfaded, (though he brings
My buried brothers to me, in his look,)
Said, `Will you dance? ' At the accustomed words
I gave my hand, the old position took.
Sound, gladsome measure! at whose bidding once
I felt the flush of pleasure to my brow,
While my soul shook the burthen of the flesh,
And in its young pride said, `Lie lightly thou! '

Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
My breast against the golden waves of sound,
I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,
Mocking fatigue, that never could be found.

Chide not,- it was not vanity, nor sense,
(The brutish scorn such vaporous delight,)
But Nature, cadencing her joy of strength
To the harmonious limits of her right.

She gave her impulse to the dancing Hours,
To winds that sweep, to stars that noiseless turn;
She marked the measure rapid hearts must keep
Devised each pace that glancing feet should learn.

And sure, that prodigal o'erflow of life,
Unvow'd as yet to family or state,
Sweet sounds, white garments, flowery coronals
Make holy, in the pageant of our fate.

Sound, measure! but to stir my heart no more-
For, as I moved to join the dizzy race,
My youth fell from me; all its blooms were gone,
And others showed them, smiling, in my face.

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms
Linked each to other, Fashion's galley-slaves,
Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost
That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were 'neath my feet, whose placid masks
Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,
While all the host of the departed said,
`Tread lightly- thou art ashes, even as we.'

Topic(s) of this poem: dance

Comments about My Last Dance by Julia Ward Howe

  • Glen Kappy (8/31/2018 7:42:00 AM)

    Hmmm... This is a poem I’d like to talk to the author about, getting a sense of her and what she intended. I have the impression she couldn’t live comfortably with the upsides of life, as if a dour or pessimistic stance towards it was what was most proper most of the time. -GK (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Baquee Billah Ahmed (8/31/2018 5:57:00 AM)


  • Adrian Flett (8/31/2018 5:19:00 AM)

    'I gave my hand, the old position took' Yielding to life and still recalling all the lost in life's journey. (Report) Reply

  • Pranab K Chakraborty (8/31/2018 3:53:00 AM)

    ...Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
    My breast against the golden waves of sound,

    Fantastic the exploration of exposing beauty of mind simply with words. Imagery and metaphors are unique.
    (Report) Reply

  • Kumarmani Mahakul (8/31/2018 3:17:00 AM)

    A beautiful poem on dance nicely executed. (Report) Reply

  • Petals Azureblue (8/31/2018 2:31:00 AM)

    Such an intense dance poem. (Report) Reply

  • Bernard F. Asuncion (8/31/2018 1:21:00 AM)

    Such a great poem by Julia Ward Howe...................................... (Report) Reply

Read all 7 comments »

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

Read poems about / on: dance, nature, family, pride, strength, fate, music, dream, fire, joy, wind, smile, star, flower

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

Poem Edited: Thursday, December 25, 2014

Famous Poems

  1. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  5. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  6. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
    Mary Elizabeth Frye
  9. I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
    Pablo Neruda
  10. Television
    Roald Dahl
[Report Error]