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 | '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,
97
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 | |