Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ISADORA DUNCAN DANCING 'IPHIGENIA IN AULIS', by LOUIS UNTERMEYER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Fling the stones and let them all Last Line: And the dance is ended. Alternate Author Name(s): Lewis, Michael Variant Title(s): Isadora Duncan Dancing Subject(s): Dancing & Dancers; Duncan, Isadora (1878-1927) | ||||||||
1 FLING the stones and let them all Lie; Take a breath, and toss the ball High And before it strikes the floor Of the hoar and agèd shore, Sweep them up, though there should be Even more than two or three. Add a pebble, then once more Fling the stones and let them all Lie; Take a breath, and toss the ball High. ... 2 Rises now the sound of ancient chants And the circling figure moves more slowly. Thus the stately gods themselves must dance While the world grows rapturous and holy. Thus the gods might weave a great Romance Singing to the sighs of flute and psalter; Till the last of all the many chants, And the priestess sinks before the altar. 3 Cease, oh cease the murmured singing; Hush the numbers brave or blithe, For she enters gravely swinging, Lowering and lithe Dark and vengeful as the ringing Scythe meets scythe. While the flame is fiercely sweeping All her virgin airs depart; She is, without smiles and weeping Or a maiden's art, Stern and savage as the leaping Heart meets heart! 4 Now the tune grows frantic, Now the torches flare Wild and corybantic Echoes fill the air. With a sudden sally All the voices shout; And the bacchic rally Turns into a rout. Here is life that surges Through each burning vein; Here is joy that purges Every creeping pain. Even sober Sadness Casts aside her pall, Till with buoyant madness She must swoon and fall... CHOPIN FAINT preludings on a flute And she swims before us; Shadows follow in pursuit, Like a phantom chorus. Sense and sound are intertwined Through her necromancy, Till our dreaming souls are blind To all things but fancy. Haunted woods and perfumed nights, Swift and soft desires, Roses, violet-colored lights, And the sound of lyres, Vague chromatics on a flute All are subtly blended, Till the instrument grows mute And the dance is ended. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGGE BYRD; FOR ISADORA DUNCAN by MINA LOY A BIRTHDAY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER A VOICE FROM THE SWEAT-SHOPS (A HYMN WITH RESPONSES) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER AFFIRMATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER AT KENNEBUNKPORT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER AUCTION: ANDERSON GALLERIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER AUTUMN DIALOGUE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BATTLE HYMN OF THE RUSSIAN REPUBLIC by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |
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