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 Great Lover
2. Second Best
3. Pine-Trees and the Sky: Evening
4. Doubts
5. Desertion

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

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