COME, Love, one wild dance more, while still The weary fiddlers bend and scrape, A few fond couples shuffle yet, And sleepy shades the dull walls drape. All else are gone. Ambition's gone, Pouting neglected with the rest. I danced but once with her, and shrank Thereafter from her burning breast. Yes, knock-kneed Envy's slinking there With that hoarse whisperer, Discontent; They wrangled through the minuet, Scoffing at you—'tis time they went. This gliding motion's like the wind Gliding along the willow alleys. You know the way it draws between The leaves with sighs and sudden sallies. Plague take the fiddlers! Are they done, The nodding baldheads? Get your cloak. Is that the car—the village Ford That's racking near with raven croak? And who's the driver, old Death's-head— Why, Death himself? Good God, who sent him? We can't have him—poor old man Death! Somebody for some other meant him. Let's slip by, Love, under the eaves, Within the shadow. Now turn here— Good! This leads to the churchyard? Well, Just hold my arm, so, never fear. Poor old man Death, still waiting there! He'll wait and wait and nod and nod, Then rouse and snatch the first that comes Blundering by, and say he's God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASPECTA MEDUSA by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 13 by ALFRED TENNYSON TO HIS DEAR FRIEND THOMAS RANDOLPH, ON HIS COMEDY 'THE JEALOUS LOVERS' by RICHARD BENEFIELD THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL: PREFACE by WILLIAM BLAKE CHERRY-BUDS by GAMALIEL BRADFORD |