The cymbals crash, And the dancers walk, With long silk stockings And arms of chalk. Butterfly skirts, And white breasts bare, @3And shadows of dead men Watching 'em there. Shadows of dead men Stand by the wall, Watching the fun Of the Victory Ball. They do not reproach, Because they know, If they're forgotten, It's better so.@1 Under the dancing Feet are the graves. Dazzle and motley, In long bright waves, Brushed by the palm-fronds Grapple and whirl Ox-eyed matron, And slim white girl. Fat wet bodies Go waddling by, Girdled with satin, Though God knows why; Gripped by satyrs In white and black, With a fat wet hand On the fat wet back. See, there is one child Fresh from school, Learning the ropes As the old hands rule. God, how that dead boy Gapes and grins As the tom-toms bang And the shimmy begins. "What did you think We should find," said a shade, "When the last shot echoed And peace was made?" "Christ," laughed the fleshless Jaws of his friend, "I thought they'd be praying For worlds to mend, "Making earth better Or something silly, Like white-washing hell Or Picca-dam-dilly. They've a sense of humour, These women of ours, These exquisite lilies, These fresh young flowers!" "Pish!" said a statesman Standing near, "I'm glad they can busy Their thoughts elsewhere! We mustn't reproach 'em, They're young, you see!" @3"Ah," said the dead men, "So were we!" Victory! Victory! On with the dance! Back to the jungle The new beasts prance! God how the dead men Grin by the wall, Watching the fun Of the Victory Ball.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...QUESTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BUCOLIC COMEDY: EARLY SPRING by EDITH SITWELL THE OLD MEN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS EPISTLE TO MISS TERESA BLOUNT, ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN by ALEXANDER POPE TO ONE BEREFT by ETHEL KNAPP BEHRMAN |