This is no child that dances. This is flame. Here fire at last has found its natural frame. What else is that which burns and flies From those enkindled eyes. . . . What is that inner blaze Which plays About that lighted face. . . . This thing is fire set free -- Fire possesses her, or rather she Controls its mastery. With every gesture, every rhythmic stride, Beat after beat, It follows, purring at her side, Or licks the shadows of her flashing feet. Around her everywhere It coils its threads of yellow hair; Through every vein its bright blood creeps, And its red hands Caress her as she stands Or lift her boldly when she leaps. Then, as the surge Of radiance grows stronger These two are two no longer And they merge Into a disembodied ecstasy; Free To express some half-forgotten hunger, Some half-forbidden urge. What mystery Has been at work until it blent One child and that fierce element? Give it no name. It is enough that flesh has danced with flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OPPOSITES by KATHERINE MANSFIELD TO WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON TAGORE by MARIANNE MOORE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 39 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH THE QUIET KINGDOM by CARL BUSSE THE LEGEND OF LADY GERTRUDE by ADA CAMBRIDGE TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. IN THE DRAWING ROOMS by EDWARD CARPENTER |