The Dance

Should you resist dancing with me,

My darling, it will be in vain!

Should you mind that I am too young

To hold you close by your lean waist,

My darling, it will be in vain!

As I trace moons, make turns and lifts

And mark kisses on your bodice,

Should you moan to make the songs fade,

My darling, it will be in vain!

My soul is of the satyric rain,

Yours of a vale, vast, evergreen;

Our dance makes the rose-buds bloom.

Should you mind for this rain to pelt,

My darling, it will be in vain!

As a lost pilgrim, I descend hills

And head for your rose-bloomed valley.

Digging with my staff, I plant roses

And in you I seep, sink and meld!

Should you wish to dance in this rain,

My darling, it won't be in vain!