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The Dance
Dance on; we would not touch you,
Nay-let us turn aside,
Lest the shadow of what we've looked on
In our eyes should be descried.
Somewhere at least must fingers
Be clasped to the burning sun;
Somewhere must limbs be music
To the tune the fates have spun;
Somewhere the high immortals
Must have oblations poured;
Somewhere in classic portals,
The gods must be adored;
Somewhere must life be beauty
Though the prophets darken their eyes,
Somewhere must beauty be very truth
Though the planets fall from the skies.
Dance on: heed not our plight;
Dance on: be cruel and free;
Dance like a flame in the night !
Dance like a star on the sea !
John Cowper Powys