The Dance of Love

All night we danced upon our windy hill, Your dress a cloud of tangled midnight hair, And love was much too much for me to wear My leaves; the killer roared above his kill, But you danced on, and when some star would spill Its red and white upon you whirling there, I sensed a hidden beauty in the air; Though you danced on, my heart and I stood still.

But suddenly a bit of morning crept Along your trembling sides of ebony; I saw the tears your tired limbs had wept, And how your breasts heaved high, how languidly Your dark arms moved; I drew you close to me; We flung ourselves upon our hill and slept.