Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CUPID'S ALLEY; A MORALITY by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON

Poet Analysis

First Line: IT RUNS (SO SAITH MY CHRONICLER)
Last Line: MUST LAST -- IN 'CUPID'S ALLEY.'
O, Love's but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!
See the couples advance, --
O, Love's but a dance!
A whisper, a glance, --
'Shall we twirl down the middle?'
O, Love's but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!

IT runs (so saith my Chronicler)
Across a smoky City; --
A Babel filed with buzz and whirr,
Huge, gloomy, black and gritty;
Dark-louring looks the hill-side near,
Dark-yawning looks the valley, --
But here 'tis always fresh and clear,
For here -- is 'Cupid's Alley.'

And, from an Arbour cool and green
With aspect down the middle,
An ancient Fiddler, gray and lean,
Scrapes on an ancient fiddle;
Alert he seems, but aged enow
To punt the Stygian galley; --
With wisp of forelock on his brow,
He plays -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

All day he plays, -- a single tune! --
But, by the oddest chances,
Gavotte, or Brawl, or Rigadoon,
It suits all kinds of dances;
My Lord may walk a pas de Cour
To Jenny's pas de Chalet; --
The folks who ne'er have danced before
Can dance -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

And here, for ages yet untold,
Long, long before my ditty,
Came high and low, and young and old,
From out the crowded City;
And still to-day they come, they go,
And just as fancies tally,
They foot it quick, they foot it slow,
All day -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

Strange Dance! 'Tis free to Rank and Rags;
Here no distinction flatters,
Here Riches shakes its money-bags,
And Poverty its tatters;
Church, Army, Navy, Physic, Law; --
Maid, Mistress, Master, Valet;
Long locks, gray hairs, bald heads, and a', --
They bob -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

Strange pairs! To laughing, light Fifteen
Here capers Prudence thrifty;
Here Prodigal leads down the green
A blushing Maid of fifty;
Some treat it as a serious thing,
And some but shilly-shally;
And some have danced without the ring
(Ah me!) -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

And sometimes one to one will dance,
And think of one behind her;
And one by one will stand, perchance,
Yet look all ways to find her;
Some seek a partner with a sigh,
Some win him with a sally;
And some, they know not how nor why,
Strange fate! -- of 'Cupid's Alley.'

And some will dance an age or so
Who came for half a minute;
And some, who like the game, will go
Before they well begin it;
And some will vow they're 'danced to death,'
Who (somehow) always rally;
Strange cures are wrought (mine Author saith),
Strange cures! -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

It may be one will dance to-day,
And dance no more to-morrow;
It may be one will steal away
And nurse a life-long sorrow;
What then? The rest advance, evade,
Unite, dispart, and dally,
Re-set, coquet, and gallopade,
Not less -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'

For till that City's wheel-work vast
And shuddering beams shall crumble; --
And till that Fiddler lean at last
From off his seat shall tumble; --
Till then (the Civic records say),
This quaint, fantastic ballet
Of Go and Stay, of Yea and Nay,
Must last -- in 'Cupid's Alley.'



Home: PoetryExplorer.net