Patrick Kavanagh

The Dance

The high-falluting spin
The dance - 
I am partnered by spirit
Chaste as fire
And flash my own dream-impotence
Like an unearthed electric wire

Once there was rich
Reality of pain
Saying each morning at my bedroom do[or]
The sun is risen again.
And bread-bare boards were barricades
Against the High Inane.

Instead of delicate prayer sensitiveness
Strong armed and sense aware
I was master of cruel truth
When my knees broke on the stone-[savage] stair
Let my feet come
To solidity
Let my feet come
Among cynic tramps
Losing inglorious
Shoes in swamps
Let my light be
From labourous [sic]
Suburban lamps.

Unfleshed beauty goes diffuse
As a played-out muse.
End, whirl!
Poet demands a less ecstatic girl.
In flesh-denial Hell whirls so,
The infernal []-ring spins
Beyond all compass-points. Partner, let g[o]
Have I not purged my bright, seraphi[m] sins?

I cannot see the flowering city
Of Creation
The light is too intense
Where gods occasion. [sic]
Fall, falling angel from
This star-maelstrom
To clay's death-pity
The dance! the dance!
My seed suspended
Among ghosts of pride
My soul bended
And extended
On orbits of silly immortality - 
My soul that might have employed
A frame of earthy quality
My soul that might have grown
Man-bodied tender;
My soul that might have known
The laughing bawdy power
The vanities engender
In sticks of crumbling bone…
Partner be gone! be gone!
Half-Heaven turns [sour]
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