Indian Dancers

Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting,

what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire

Drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens

that glimmer around them in fountains of light;

O wild and entrancing the strain of keen music

that cleaveth the stars like a wail of desire,

And beautiful dancers with houri-like faces

bewitch the voluptuous watches of night.

The scents of red roses and sandalwood flutter and

die in the maze of their gem-tangled hair.

And smiles are entwining like magical serpents the

poppies of lips that are opiate-sweet;

Their glittering garments of purple are burning

like tremulous dawns in the quivering air,

And exquisite, subtle and slow are the tinkle and

tread of their rhythmical, slumber-soft feet.

Now silent, now singing and swaying and swinging

like blossoms that bend to the breezes or showers,

Now wantonly winding, they flash, now they falter,

and, lingering, languish in radiant choir;

Their jewel-girt arms and warm, wavering, lily-

long fingers enchant through melodious hours,

Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting,

what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire!

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