Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DANCE OF VANITY (MODERN STYLE), by MARGARET LOUISA WOODS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DANCE OF VANITY (MODERN STYLE), by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Selfishness has swept the house
Last Line: For the burial of souls.
Alternate Author Name(s): Woods, Mrs. Margaret Louisa Bradley
Subject(s): Selfishness; Vanity


SELFISHNESS has swept the house,
Vanity has garnished it,
With desires furnished it.
Not a crumb to feed a mouse
Have they left of household bread,
Duty, honour, charity.
"Food for common mortals," said
Vanity.

Stood the Master by the door,
Underneath the jessamine.
Was it he who let them in,
Or the wind that round the floor
Whirled the dropping jessamine?
"Come in,
Every fine new-fangled Sin
And rarity!
Come in! Come in!
Welcome! Would that ye were more!"
Shrills the shape behind the door—
Vanity.

Nakedness for all disguise,
Rank as earth created them,
Foul as when Christ hated them,
Enter these deformities,
Each like beauties, asking eyes.
Hump and tumour, tusk and horn,
Hospitable Vanity's
Hands with jewelled wreaths adorn.
O Rarities!

Turn a switch, let all the house
Glow with lamps of Carnival,
And as to a king's festival
Whom the world would see carouse,
Bid with a mechanic blare
The loud incessant trumpet call.

Run the neighbours, lean and stare
Outside the garden fence—
The odour of the jessamine
Is faint as dying Innocence—
What is that they see within?
Sin by Sin
Marching naked each enormity;
Piping in magnificence
Stalks before my Lady Vanity.

Even in Hell the fashions reign;
So each Sin to revelry
Leads a favourite devilry,
Trotting in a coat and chain.
When the wind showers within
The ruin of the jessamine,
The curs of Hell in delight
Chasing the petals, bark and bite
Merrily.

There be revellers fair, yet strange
Almost as a naked Sin,
Rayonnant, with deep salute—
Being not too proud for snobbery—
Lady Vanity welcomes in.
Wandering Oceanides
That remember not their seas,
Yet wave-like ever range and range,
Their blond, blond hair

With unvalued pearls entwining
And subtle gold, the sea's robbery.
From afar
Where eternal forests tower
Murmuring to the mountains mute,
Young dark Dryades—
They have dyed their tresses fair,
Being in love with falsities—

Satyrs that can wear a boot,
Egoists decked with Christianity:
Then a star
Pale with pride to be so rare.
Weary was he of Heaven's power
And the constellations' shining.
"Welcome, noble company!"
Cries Vanity.

Overhead begin to float
Harmonies half terrestrial,
Such as Pan the celestial
Made to pleasure Pan the goat.
Yet nor breath of Man nor string
Nor quires that in heaven sing,
Make this music rise and fall;
But a travelling troupe of sparks
Electrical.

Begin, begin,
The 'cello and the violin,
Like the wavering of a lark's
Wings a moment ere he'll soar
And straight into the sun spring.
Press a button, then 'twill pour
Sounds orchestral,
Voices out of iron throats

Showering notes
Hard as hail along the roof.
Holla! Holla! a brazen din—
Beat the time with heel and hoof!
"'Tis a new original Dance of Sin
To which the old are mere inanity,
We do gloriously begin.
Marvelling Public, stand aloof!"
Cries Vanity.

Speeds the riot from roof to floor.
There amusing Malice is,
With patens and with chalices,
Juggling till the room's a-roar.
Neighbours yonder push for places,
While the very dancers pause,
Crowding faces
Writhe around him in applause.

Reels the Master to the door
Drunken with his own delight,
Watches with exultant grin
Outside the garden fence
More and more
Pale upon the edge of night,
People gather, peering in.
"Neighbours! What? You're in a fright?
Hypocrites,
With your halos torn to bits!
Paper fetters of pretence
Laid on human pride and passion
Rent with laughter! Prophecy
Ancient men! All the faster
Younger wits
Will adore and ape our fashion."

Youth and maiden whispering eye
Yonder house, and drawing nigh
Bow themselves before the Master.
"We would also servants be
Of Vanity."

The silver dawn comes tardily
Lingering a long while in heaven,
Unregardful of the plain.

Then he sees they are but seven
Dancing so hardily.
Their seven curs against the wall
Sit and snarl when they call.
Looking, in a sudden terror
Quoth he, "Tell me why
They are but seven."
Vanity
Makes no reply,
Painting her face before a mirror.

The lonely dawn is at the door.
Will they never come again,
The crowd that used to look and wonder?
Not a soul he sees about.
Overhead the jessamine
Hangs black and blasted to the core,
Yet he fain would linger under.
But the seven Sins begin to shout,
And a young man passing, jeers.

Then he sees beyond a doubt
These sins are old as all years.
"Why do these grey dotards come?"
To Vanity he cries.

"I will have but new Sins here."
"In and out, out and in,"
She replies,
"I have sought for a new Sin.
All are old ones in disguise."

Tap! Tap, Tap! Is that a drum?
Tap! Tap! It is drawing near.
The seven curs begin to whimper,
Vanity forgets her simper
And the arrogance of her sneer.
There's one will outgrin her here.

Now he's at the fence and over,
Strutting up the garden, prouder
Than a piper. Loud and louder
The drum he bangs
That black below his girdle hangs,
Busily jumping, as he plays.
No use to bid him hence,
This Captain every man obeys.

"Form up! Attention! March!"
First the Master, single file
After him the rest are coming,
Vanity
And the Sins in their degree.

Endlessly they seem to go,
The Master and his company,
Limping on, and all the while
Stalks before the drummer drumming,
Till there's nothing strikes the sense,
Nothing is, except that drumming.

It fills with long reverberant rolls
Heaven as 'twere a solid arch—
Hark! a sound beating slow!
'Tis the knell of God that tolls
For the burial of souls.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net