The Waltz

The waltz was a gatherer, slow and serene;
He was gathering sweetness, there with his queen;
His eyes were half-closed as he carried her round,
In love with all being and beauty of sound.

And then it went slower, and slower, and slow,
Till just above stillness it hovered, then oh,
So lightly and freshly it swung off again,
And he was the gladdest of happiest men.

His world’s in his keeping, his time in his hands,
He dances the drawings his spirit commands;
And she who’s drawn him into sun-life of light
Is picture of music that’s perfectly right.

The masterpiece stops; they are still on the floor,
Embraced in themselves and brush touchings that soar;
And oh, color them silver and spring green and gold–
The waltz his young gall’ry, his truth he has told.

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