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The Dancer
I will not dance:
I say I will not dance.
Your audience, pah, let them go home again,
Sleek, ugly pigs. Am I to hop and prance
As long as they will pay,
And posture for their eyes, and lay
My womanhood before them? Let them drain
Their porter pots and snuffle — I'll not stay.
For he is dead:
I tell you he is dead.
My God, did you not hear me say it
Twice already? I held his groaning head
In these remembering arms,
And cursed the charms
That could not stop his going. Must I bay it
Like a dog to you ? Quit your alarms!
They shout and stamp?
Then, let them shout and stamp,
Those booted hogs and lechers — I'm away
To sit beside my dead. O God, you tramp
Upon me too, and twine
More sorrows round me than are mine
With holy unconcern. . . . Don't bar my way,
I'm going to my dead. . . . Ah-h-h, stamping swine!
James Stephens