How a Little Girl Danced

Dedicated to Lucy Bates

(Being a reminiscence of certain private theatricals.)



    Oh, cabaret dancer, I know a dancer,
    Whose eyes have not looked on the feasts that are vain.
    I know a dancer, I know a dancer,
    Whose soul has no bond with the beasts of the plain:
    Judith the dancer, Judith the dancer,
    With foot like the snow, and with step like the rain.

    Oh, thrice-painted dancer, vaudeville dancer,
    Sad in your spangles, with soul all astrain,
    I know a dancer, I know a dancer,
    Whose laughter and weeping are spiritual gain,
    A pure-hearted, high-hearted maiden evangel,
    With strength the dark cynical earth to disdain.

    Flowers of bright Broadway, you of the chorus,
    Who sing in the hope of forgetting your pain:
    I turn to a sister of Sainted Cecilia,
    A white bird escaping the earth's tangled skein: -
    The music of God is her innermost brooding,
    The whispering angels her footsteps sustain.

    Oh, proud Russian dancer:    praise for your dancing.
    No clean human passion my rhyme would arraign.
    You dance for Apollo with noble devotion,
    A high cleansing revel to make the heart sane.
    But Judith the dancer prays to a spirit
    More white than Apollo and all of his train.

    I know a dancer who finds the true Godhead,
    Who bends o'er a brazier in Heaven's clear plain.
    I know a dancer, I know a dancer,
    Who lifts us toward peace, from this earth that is vain:
    Judith the dancer, Judith the dancer,
    With foot like the snow, and with step like the rain.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

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English

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An "Idyl" Of The Ball.

I.

In reel, in waltz, in lancer's maze,
    She moved with pretty air of grace,
And all the ball-room's brilliant blaze
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O, winsome maid, demure and sweet!
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II.

O, dreams of youth and beauty rare,
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III.

Arrayed in softly flowing gown,
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    Ah, she was music in herself,
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    She sang, she sang from finger tips,
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    I saw sweet haunting harmony,
    An ecstasy, an ecstasy,
    In that strange curling of her lips,
    That happy curling of her lips.
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    Those eyes I saw, that tossing head.

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Chopin.

    I.


A    dream of interlinking hands, of feet
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Of the entangling waltz.    Bright eyebeams meet,
Gay laughter echoes from the vaulted roof.
Warm perfumes rise; the soft unflickering glow
Of branching lights sets off the changeful charms
Of glancing gems, rich stuffs, dazzling snow
Of necks unkerchieft, and bare, clinging arms.
Hark to the music!    How beneath the strain
Of reckless revelry, vibrates and sobs
One fundamental chord of constant pain,
The pulse-beat of the poet's heart that throbs.
So yearns, though all the dancing waves rejoice,
The troubled sea's disconsolate, deep voice.



    II.


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