AROUND thee, barefoot girl, there float The comely draperies of Greece; Still sways thy form as to some note Of childhood that can never cease. Ho, for thy crystal skies!—the throngs In Prosperine's or Dion's rite Trailing the mountain towns with songs And garlands,—till again the night Finds in thy votive breast a flame As on the altars. Hush,—dost hear Thy lover whispering thy name, Corinna,—or was't Thelaïre? Soft through the moonlit vines the flute Trills forth,—and thou art fain to dance, Lithe girl of Tánagra. How mute The syrinx that could so entrance!— Now o'er our fireplace let no blast Nor memory touch thee with regret; Dance on,—frail terra-cotta cast,— Our hearts make music yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH IMPERTURBABLE by CONRAD AIKEN A JOYFUL SONG OF FIVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |