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.
Each slender sinuous body, spell-bound, thrilled
With triumph in its last, most perfect pose . . .
Each lovely head thrown back, as in a trance
Immovable they stand in glittering rows.
······
Mad with the mystic measure of the dance.
Then suddenly they pause, as if by chance,
Motionless . . . as the flutes and viols are stilled.
Each slender sinuous body, spell-bound, thrilled
With triumph in its last, most perfect pose . . .
Each lovely head thrown back, as in a trance
Immovable they stand in glittering rows.
······
Silence and darkness! . . . was it then a dream?
Entangled in the passionate mystery
And magic of your music, which to me
Is ever as the shadow of soft wings
Shutting away all sense of sordid things,
All sight of that inscrutable Sphinx called "Life"
. . . So weary souls drift vision-ward, and see,
Looking between the heavy lids of sleep,
Reflections of themselves as they might be!
Entangled in the passionate mystery
And magic of your music, which to me
Is ever as the shadow of soft wings
Shutting away all sense of sordid things,
All sight of that inscrutable Sphinx called "Life"
. . . So weary souls drift vision-ward, and see,
Looking between the heavy lids of sleep,
Reflections of themselves as they might be!