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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529616" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dance At The Phoenix</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">TO Jenny came a gentle youth<br> From inland leazes lone;<br> His love was fresh as apple-blooth<br> By Parrett, Yeo, or Tone.<br> And duly he entreated her<br> To be his tender minister,<br> And call him aye her own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Fair Jenny's life had hardly been<br> A life of modesty;<br> At Casterbridge experience keen<br> Of many loves had she<br> From scarcely sixteen years above:<br> Among them sundry troopers of<br> The King's-Own Cavalry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But each with charger, sword, and gun,<br> Had bluffed the Biscay wave;<br> And Jenny prized her gentle one<br> For all the love he gave.<br> She vowed to be, if they were wed,<br> His honest wife in heart and head<br> From bride-ale hour to grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Wedded they were. Her husband's trust<br> In Jenny knew no bound,<br> And Jenny kept her pure and just,<br> Till even malice found<br> No sin or sign of ill to be<br> In one who walked so decently<br> The duteous helpmate's round.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Two sons were born, and bloomed to men,<br> And roamed, and were as not:<br> Alone was Jenny left again<br> As ere her mind had sought<br> A solace in domestic joys,<br> And ere the vanished pair of boys<br> Were sent to sun her cot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She numbered near on sixty years,<br> And passed as elderly,<br> When, in the street, with flush of fears,<br> On day discovered she,<br> From shine of swords and thump of drum,<br> Her early loves from war had come,<br> The King's Own Cavalry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She turned aside, and bowed her head<br> Anigh Saint Peter's door;<br> "Alas for chastened thoughts!" she said;<br> "I'm faded now, and hoar,<br> And yet those notes--they thrill me through,<br> And those gay forms move me anew<br> As in the years of yore!"...</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> --'Twas Christmas, and the Phoenix Inn<br> Was lit with tapers tall,<br> For thirty of the trooper men<br> Had vowed to give a ball<br> As "Theirs" had done (fame handed down)<br> When lying in the self-same town<br> Ere Buonaparté's fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> That night the throbbing "Soldier's Joy,"<br> The measured tread and sway<br> Of "Fancy-Lad" and "Maiden Coy,"<br> Reached Jenny as she lay<br> Beside her spouse; till springtide blood<br> Seemed scouring through her like a flood<br> That whisked the years away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She rose, and rayed, and decked her head<br> To hide her ringlets thin;<br> Upon her cap two bows of red<br> She fixed with hasty pin;<br> Unheard descending to the street,<br> She trod the flags with tune-led feet,<br> And stood before the Inn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Save for the dancers', not a sound<br> Disturbed the icy air;<br> No watchman on his midnight round<br> Or traveller was there;<br> But over All-Saints', high and bright,<br> Pulsed to the music Sirius white,<br> The Wain by Bullstake Square.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> She knocked, but found her further stride<br> Checked by a sergeant tall:<br> "Gay Granny, whence come you?" he cried;<br> "This is a private ball."<br> --"No one has more right here than me!<br> Ere you were born, man," answered she,<br> "I knew the regiment all!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> "Take not the lady's visit ill!"<br> Upspoke the steward free;<br> "We lack sufficient partners still,<br> So, prithee let her be!"<br> They seized and whirled her 'mid the maze,<br> And Jenny felt as in the days<br> Of her immodesty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Hour chased each hour, and night advanced;<br> She sped as shod with wings;<br> Each time and every time she danced--<br> Reels, jigs, poussettes, and flings:<br> They cheered her as she soared and swooped<br> (She'd learnt ere art in dancing drooped<br> From hops to slothful swings).</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The favorite Quick-step "Speed the Plough"--<br> (Cross hands, cast off, and wheel)--<br> "The Triumph," "Sylph," "The Row-dow dow,"<br> Famed "Major Malley's Reel,"<br> "The Duke of York's," "The Fairy Dance,"<br> "The Bridge of Lodi" (brought from France),<br> She beat out, toe and heel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The "Fall of Paris" clanged its close,<br> And Peter's chime told four,<br> When Jenny, bosom-beating, rose<br> To seek her silent door.<br> They tiptoed in escorting her,<br> Lest stroke of heel or chink of spur<br> Should break her goodman's snore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The fire that late had burnt fell slack<br> When lone at last stood she;<br> Her nine-and-fifty years came back;<br> She sank upon her knee<br> Beside the durn, and like a dart<br> A something arrowed through her heart<br> In shoots of agony.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Their footsteps died as she leant there,<br> Lit by the morning star<br> Hanging above the moorland, where<br> The aged elm-rows are;<br> And, as o'ernight, from Pummery Ridge<br> To Maembury Ring and Standfast Bridge<br> No life stirred, near or far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Though inner mischief worked amain,<br> She reached her husband's side;<br> Where, toil-weary, as he had lain<br> Beneath the patchwork pied<br> When yestereve she'd forthward crept,<br> And as unwitting, still he slept<br> Who did in her confide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> A tear sprang as she turned and viewed<br> His features free from guile;<br> She kissed him long, as when, just wooed.<br> She chose his domicile.<br> Death menaced now; yet less for life<br> She wished than that she were the wife<br> That she had been erstwhile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Time wore to six. Her husband rose<br> And struck the steel and stone;<br> He glanced at Jenny, whose repose<br> Seemed deeper than his own.<br> With dumb dismay, on closer sight,<br> He gathered sense that in the night,<br> Or morn, her soul had flown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> When told that some too mighty strain<br> For one so many-yeared<br> Had burst her bosom's master-vein,<br> His doubts remained unstirred.<br> His Jenny had not left his side<br> Betwixt the eve and morning-tide:<br> --The King's said not a word.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Well! times are not as times were then,<br> Nor fair ones half so free;<br> And truly they were martial men,<br> The King's-Own Cavalry.<br> And when they went from Casterbridge<br> And vanished over Mellstock Ridge,<br> 'Twas saddest morn to see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Hardy">Thomas Hardy</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=529616" data-title="The Dance At The Phoenix de Thomas Hardy" data-description="TO Jenny came a gentle youth From inland leazes lone; His love was fresh as apple-blooth By Parrett, Yeo, or Tone. And duly he entreated her To be his tender minister, And call him aye her own. Fair Jenny's life had hardly been A life of ..."></div> </div> </div>
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