The Master of the Dance

A chant to which it is intended a group of children shall dance and improvise pantomime led by their dancing-teacher.                  I          A master deep-eyed          Ere his manhood was ripe,          He sang like a thrush,          He could play any pipe.          So dull in the school          That he scarcely could spell,          He read but a bit,          And he figured not well.          A bare-footed fool,          Shod only with grace;          Long hair streaming down          Round a wind-hardened face;          He smiled like a girl,          Or like clear winter skies,          A virginal light          Making stars of his eyes.          In swiftness and poise,          A proud child of the deer,          A white fawn he was,          Yet a fawn without fear.          No youth thought him vain,          Or made mock of his hair,          Or laughed when his ways          Were most curiously fair.          A mastiff at fight,          He could strike to the earth          The envious one          Who would challenge his worth.          However we bowed          To the schoolmaster mild,          Our spirits went out          To the fawn-footed child.          His beckoning led          Our troop to the brush.          We found nothing there          But a wind and a hush.          He sat by a stone          And he looked on the ground,          As if in the weeds          There was something profound.          His pipe seemed to neigh,          Then to bleat like a sheep,          Then sound like a stream          Or a waterfall deep.          It whispered strange tales,          Human words it spoke not.          Told fair things to come,          And our marvellous lot          If now with fawn-steps          Unshod we advanced          To the midst of the grove          And in reverence danced.          We obeyed as he piped          Soft grass to young feet,          Was a medicine mighty,          A remedy meet.          Our thin blood awoke,          It grew dizzy and wild,          Though scarcely a word          Moved the lips of a child.          Our dance gave allegiance,          It set us apart,          We tripped a strange measure,          Uplifted of heart.                  II          We thought to be proud          Of our fawn everywhere.          We could hardly see how          Simple books were a care.          No rule of the school          This strange student could tame.          He was banished one day,          While we quivered with shame.          He piped back our love          On a moon-silvered night,          Enticed us once more          To the place of delight.          A greeting he sang          And it made our blood beat,          It tramped upon custom          And mocked at defeat.          He builded a fire          And we tripped in a ring,          The embers our books          And the fawn our good king.          And now we approached          All the mysteries rare          That shadowed his eyelids          And blew through his hair.          That spell now was peace          The deep strength of the trees,          The children of nature          We clambered her knees.          Our breath and our moods          Were in tune with her own,          Tremendous her presence,          Eternal her throne.          The ostracized child          Our white foreheads kissed,          Our bodies and souls          Became lighter than mist.          Sweet dresses like snow          Our small lady-loves wore,          Like moonlight the thoughts          That our bosoms upbore.          Like a lily the touch          Of each cold little hand.          The loves of the stars          We could now understand.          O quivering air!          O the crystalline night!          O pauses of awe          And the faces swan-white!          O ferns in the dusk!          O forest-shrined hour!          O earth that sent upward          The thrill and the power,          To lift us like leaves,          A delirious whirl,          The masterful boy          And the delicate girl!          What child that strange night-time          Can ever forget?          His fealty due          And his infinite debt          To the folly divine,          To the exquisite rule          Of the perilous master,          The fawn-footed fool?                  III          Now soldiers we seem,          And night brings a new thing,          A terrible ire,          As of thunder awing.          A warrior power,          That old chivalry stirred,          When knights took up arms,          As the maidens gave word.          THE END OF OUR WAR,          WILL BE GLORY UNTOLD.          WHEN THE TOWN LIKE A GREAT          BUDDING ROSE SHALL UNFOLD!          Near, nearer that war,          And that ecstasy comes,          We hear the trees beating          Invisible drums.          The fields of the night          Are starlit above,          Our girls are white torches          Of conquest and love.          No nerve without will,          And no breast without breath,          We whirl with the planets          That never know death!