The Dance

Thou dancest, gentle evening spreads sadly it's shade,

The Cypress and Pine alone are green in the glade,

Where Birch weds with Elm and the Ash with the Beeches,

Crimsoned bravely by Autumn as far as eye reaches,

And flecked with purple and gold from her store.

Thou dancest, and me thinks 'tis the summer once more,

Voluptuous a-glow in her indolent wantonness playing!

Eyes half closed on tip-toe a-swaying

Thou upliftest both arms to catch as would seem,

And embrace e'er it fade some half finish'd dream, some fading half-finish'd dream.

T'ward those lips, step by step, thou dost turn thee,

Seeking the kiss that bitter or sweet, flies past thee on the wind.

Thou dancest, gliding silently and swiftly by,

Still pursuing a dream, that ever more doth fly.

Green is the Cypress yet not suffers Autumn change,

As 'neath this pine I sit and thy rhythms so strange

My flute, so long obedient and faithful, pauses and falters.

Thou art weary, thy dance on my song waits doubting, thy dance waits doubting,

While yet around my feet on the mound, the leaves circle and dance, soft leaves of flutt'ring gold.

While yet on my feet on the mound, soft leaves flutter and dance, soft leaves of circling gold.