The Music of Dvorák
Beneath a golden dome, an emerald floor,
Crowded with dancing girls . . . the flash of feet,
The flutter of loose robes, the rhythmic beat
Of drums . . . The singing of sad violins,
The clash of cymbals . . . So the music wins
To fullest melody . . . and through it rings
The silver clink of anklets and the sweet
Tinkling sound of little shaken bells!
Crowded with dancing girls . . . the flash of feet,
The flutter of loose robes, the rhythmic beat
Of drums . . . The singing of sad violins,
The clash of cymbals . . . So the music wins
To fullest melody . . . and through it rings
The silver clink of anklets and the sweet
Tinkling sound of little shaken bells!
Lightly each coryphée her sister swings,
Mad with the mystic measure of the dance.
Then suddenly they pause, as if by chance,
Motionless . . . as the flutes and viols are stilled.
Mad with the mystic measure of the dance.
Then suddenly they pause, as if by chance,
Motionless . . . as the flutes and viols are stilled.
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