Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MINUET, by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MINUET, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Clustered like roses, the golden lights
Last Line: The proud, the leisurely minuet.
Alternate Author Name(s): Van Deth, Gerrit, Mrs.
Subject(s): Dancing & Dancers


CLUSTERED like roses, the golden lights
Shine on the polished and gleaming floor;
Garlands are flung from the shadowy heights
Of carven cornice and oaken door;
Banners are draped on the stately walls,
Tapestries flicker in faded grace,
And clear from the lifted gallery falls—
Waking the glow in each happy face—
The brilliant music, with rest and fret,
And slow, sweet strains, for the minuet.

Bright as the blossoms that slip the sheath
Of the folding calyx are maidens fair,
Their beauty and sparkle hid beneath
Hoods that cover the crinkled hair.
Loosen the mantle, unclasp the shawl,
Let ermine and sable be laid aside,
For the small feet tap at the tuneful call,
And scarce can wait through the dance to glide.
Loiter not now when they form the set
For the courtly, dignified minuet.

The ladies are robed in such rich attire
As well might ransom a captive king;
There is flashing of jewels in lucent fire,
There is diamond lustre in brooch and ring;
Perfumes of Araby scent the air,
Flutter the fans, and the blushes rise
To cheeks whose velvety dimples wear
The pale pink flush of the dawning skies.
Who that hath seen it can e'er forget
The radiant charm of the minuet?

The men who bow with such gallant pride,
Who utter such compliments, sweet and low,
Are men who in many a list have tried
The crossing lance with the valiant foe:
The plumes that they doff with such knightly ease
Have swept the field in a whirl of steel,
With the sword's swift rush, like the sound of seas,
With mail-clad breast and a spur at heel;
But the triumphs of war their hearts forget
When they lead the fair in the minuet.

Here statesmen keen at the council board,
Skilled and shrewd in the deep debate,
Are bland as the breezes of summer, stored
With the honey of lilies at evening late.
The white head bends to the golden curls,
The grave lips stoop to the snowy hand,
And suave petitions are dropped like pearls
By voices used unto stern command,—
Dame and demoiselle queening yet
The formal grace of the minuet.

Touched with enchantment is love's young dream,
Wreathing its fancy in glance and smile;
Glamor and rapture and bliss outbeam
From eyes that are pure of the worldling's guile.
Sanguine and eager and strong of soul
Is the lad in his nobleness, brave and high,—
Lifted from aught that could hold control
Unworthy the lady, so sweet and shy,
Whose finger-tips with his own are met
In the courteous, reticent minuet.

Pause we now ere we turn the page;
Fleet let the beautiful pageant pass,—
Glimpse of the pomp of a splendid age,
Blooming here as in magic glass.
Swift through the waltz as we flit along,
Something we've lost of the languid grace,
Subtle and soft as remembered song,
Which thrills in the airy and pictured space,
Where the music throbs and the dance is set,—
The proud, the leisurely minuet.





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