Do you remember that day I danced in the woods,
Under the dancing leaves?
Do you remember the delicate blue of the sky
And the gold-dust in the air?
And the tawny harvest fields, and the heavy sheaves?
Summer was surely in one of her bravest moods . . .
And oh, the rare
Swift joy that lifted life to an ecstasy,
That shining day I danced for you, dear, in the woods!
The purple twilight came, and the amber moon . . .
And the fairies danced with me . . .
And the shy fauns crept from the tangled thicket near,
And the startled dryads bent,
White and starry-eyed, each from her secret tree,
To watch that mystical dance, to share that heavenly swoon
That mad, bright banishment. . . .
For we were free in the perfect country, dear,
When purple twilight came and the amber moon . . .
Some day I shall dance again that mystical dance . . .
I know not when or where!
But the angels shall dance with me, and I shall not be afraid.
I shall look in their deep eyes . . .
And feel their arms about me, and their kisses in my hair,
And know that time is over, and the desperate ways of chance. . . .
I shall be very wise,
And glad at last, and the walls of the world shall fade . . .
The day when I dance again that mystical dance.