 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE DANCE TO DEATH.
Whither, whither, O say,Are they speeding away,
Youthful figures and old,
Over dead things not cold,
Scarce concealed by the flowers,
Staring stark through bright bowers;
Sober matron, sweet maid,
Not abashed, not afraid,
And the tenderest lewd,
With warm graces half nude,
That in modesty's pride
It were glory to hide;
With the waving of arms,
And those delicato charms,
Breathing roses and rest,
From white blossom of breast,
Coarsely bared to the glance,
In the rapturous dance,
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Are they finding a feast?
Oh, to festival they
Carried are as its prey,
Like a bubble or breath,
—Unto death.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |