Bring trumpet throats that are big with a gust of moons. Tumble staccato stars upon silken flurry. Spangle patrician cheeks with scarlet tunes That droop and curve from the roof with sinuous fury We shall answer the stamping pulse of a dusk that is dead, Flesh for the ancient bones that are grass overhead. Now the walls recede with an open murmur. Bush and darkness and soft grass only are here. All day long we have heard the drum's rich clamor And followed the beat and the wish that is half a fear. We have answered with trembling feet that are swift and young, And shadow is not on the lips, nor dust on the tongue. And who can mark the weaving of that measure? Who can uncharm the invisible talisman? We are children spun and blown of an old pleasure, And the feet return where the dancing feet began. In our dream surely the tamarisk boughs were shaken, Else how could the moons depart and the cold eyes waken? But cleave, O Trumpets, the flesh of this iron shadow! Pour your moons and stars upon lips and hair! Bring, O Drums, the stir of an alien meadow Trod and fragrant under a savage air. We shall move with the living pulse of a dusk that is dead Till the untold morning be come and the dancers be fled. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THREE MOMENTS IN PARIS: 1. ONE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT by MINA LOY AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND by ANDREW MARVELL RUNNING THE BATTERIES by HERMAN MELVILLE HEAVEN by NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST THE NATURAL FIRE by CLIFFORD ALLEN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 25. AL-MUHIZZ by EDWIN ARNOLD |