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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427871" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>My Last Dance</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The shell of objects inwardly consumed<br> Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;<br> Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,<br> Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.<br> Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,<br> Yet crumble at the breath of a caress;<br> The golden fruitage hides the scath&egrave;d bough,<br> Snatch it, thou scatterest wide its emptiness.<br> For pleasure bidden, I went forth last night<br> To where, thick hung, the festal torches gleamed;<br> Here were the flowers, the music, as of old,<br> Almost the very olden time it seemed.<br> For one with cheek unfaded, (though he brings<br> My buried brothers to me, in his look,)<br> Said, `Will you dance?' At the accustomed words<br> I gave my hand, the old position took.<br> Sound, gladsome measure! at whose bidding once<br> I felt the flush of pleasure to my brow,<br> While my soul shook the burthen of the flesh,<br> And in its young pride said, `Lie lightly thou!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high<br> My breast against the golden waves of sound,<br> I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,<br> Mocking fatigue, that never could be found. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Chide not,--it was not vanity, nor sense,<br> (The brutish scorn such vaporous delight,)<br> But Nature, cadencing her joy of strength<br> To the harmonious limits of her right. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She gave her impulse to the dancing Hours,<br> To winds that sweep, to stars that noiseless turn;<br> She marked the measure rapid hearts must keep<br> Devised each pace that glancing feet should learn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And sure, that prodigal o'erflow of life,<br> Unvow'd as yet to family or state,<br> Sweet sounds, white garments, flowery coronals<br> Make holy, in the pageant of our fate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Sound, measure! but to stir my heart no more--<br> For, as I moved to join the dizzy race,<br> My youth fell from me; all its blooms were gone,<br> And others showed them, smiling, in my face. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Faintly I met the shock of circling forms<br> Linked each to other, Fashion's galley-slaves,<br> Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost<br> That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For graves were 'neath my feet, whose placid masks<br> Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,<br> While all the host of the departed said,<br> `Tread lightly--thou art ashes, even as we.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Julia+Ward+Howe">Julia Ward Howe</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427871" data-title="My Last Dance de Julia Ward Howe" data-description="The shell of objects inwardly consumed
 Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;
 Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,
 Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.
 Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,
 Yet crumble a..."></div>
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