Poem by Rupert Chawner Brooke

The Dance

            A Song

   As the Wind, and as the Wind,
       In a corner of the way,
   Goes stepping, stands twirling,
   Invisibly, comes whirling,
   Bows before, and skips behind,
     In a grave, an endless play--

   So my Heart, and so my Heart,
       Following where your feet have gone,
   Stirs dust of old dreams there;
   He turns a toe; he gleams there,
   Treading you a dance apart.
     But you see not. You pass on.

1. The True Beatitude
2. He Wonders Whether to Praise or to Blame Her
3. The Way That Lovers Use
4. The Chilterns
5. Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body

Harold Crane The Dance ("The swift red flesh, a winter king")

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