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 !