 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
252
THE WALTZ.
My arm is around your waist, love,
Your hand is clasping mine,
Your head leans over my shoulder,
As around in the waltz we twine.
I feel your quick heart throbbing,
Your panting breath I breathe,
And the odor rare of your hyacinth hair
Comes faintly up from beneath.
Your hand is clasping mine,
Your head leans over my shoulder,
As around in the waltz we twine.
I feel your quick heart throbbing,
Your panting breath I breathe,
And the odor rare of your hyacinth hair
Comes faintly up from beneath.
To the rhythmic beat of the music,
In the floating ebb and flow
Of the tense violin, and the lisping flute,
And the burring bass we go.
Whirling, whirling, whirling,
In a rapture swift and sweet,
To the pleading violoncello's tones,
And the pulsing piano's beat.
In the floating ebb and flow
Of the tense violin, and the lisping flute,
And the burring bass we go.
Whirling, whirling, whirling,
In a rapture swift and sweet,
To the pleading violoncello's tones,
And the pulsing piano's beat.
The world is alive with motion,
The lights are whirling all,
And the feet and brain are stirred by the strain
Of the music's incessant call.
Dance! dance! dance! it calls to us;
And borne on the waves of sound,
We circling swing, in a dizzy ring,
With the whole world wheeling round.
The lights are whirling all,
And the feet and brain are stirred by the strain
Of the music's incessant call.
Dance! dance! dance! it calls to us;
And borne on the waves of sound,
253
With the whole world wheeling round.
The jewels dance on your bosom,
On your arms the bracelets dance,
The swift blood speaks in your mantling cheeks,
In your eyes is a dewy trance;
Your white robes flutter around you,
Nothing is calm or still,
And the senses stir in the music's whirr
With a swift electric thrill.
On your arms the bracelets dance,
The swift blood speaks in your mantling cheeks,
In your eyes is a dewy trance;
Your white robes flutter around you,
Nothing is calm or still,
And the senses stir in the music's whirr
With a swift electric thrill.
We pause; and your waist releasing,
We stand and breathe for a while;
And, your face afire with a sweet desire,
You look in my eyes and smile.
We scarcely can speak for panting,
But I lean to you, and say,
Ah! who, my love, can resist you,
You have waltzed my heart away.
We stand and breathe for a while;
And, your face afire with a sweet desire,
You look in my eyes and smile.
We scarcely can speak for panting,
But I lean to you, and say,
Ah! who, my love, can resist you,
You have waltzed my heart away.
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |