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THE MASQUER IN THE STREET, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Masquer on the rainy stones
Last Line: And now dance alone.
Alternate Author Name(s): Q; Quiller-couch, A. T.
Subject(s): Dancing & Dancers


MASQUER on the rainy stones,
Jigging, twirling 'neath the rain,
Wherefore shake thine agèd bones
To that antique strain?

Limp thy locks and lank and thinned,
Thy grey beard it floats a yard;
And thy coat tails flap i' the wind
Like a torn placard.

'Hush!' saith he; 'there was a House—
From its porch the cressets flared;
Lads in livery called "Carouse!
For thy lust's prepared!"

'Like a snake the prelude wound—
Crash! the merry waltz began:
One unto my mind I found,
And our feet ran.

'Rubies ripped from altar-cloths
Leered adown her silk attire;
Her mad shoes were scarlet moths
In a rose of fire.

'Tropic scents her tresses weaved—
Scents to lay the soul a-swoon;
On her breast the draperies heaved
Like clouds by the moon.

'Back she bent her throat, her wet
Southern lips, and dared, and dared—
Over them my kisses met,
While the Sax-horn blared.

'Crash! the brassy cymbal smote—
When I would have stayed our feet,
Laughter rippled all her throat
Like a wind on wheat.

'Every laugh it left a crease,
Every ripple wrote her old—
Yet her arms would not release,
Nor her feet with-hold.

'Ah! to watch it suck and sag—
Rosy flesh 'had breathed so warm—
Till I twirled a loveless hag
On a tortured arm!

'Dancers, resting for a while
Down the wall with faces white,
Watched us waltzing, mile on mile,
In a horror of light!'...

Masquer on the rainy stones,
What is that thy fingers fold?
'Dead or dying, naught atones
But I dance and hold.

'Crash! the maddened cymbal smote—
Are they minutes? Are they years,
That I hold but dust to my coat
And a few gold hairs?'

Masquer in the rainy close,
God thee pity and thy bone!
Other men have danced with those,
And now dance alone.





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