Color (Cullen)/The Dance of Love

by Countee Cullen

The Dance of Love

(After reading René Maran's "Batouala")

ALL night we danced upon our windy hill, Your dress a cloud of tangled midnight hair,And love was much too much for me to wearMy leaves; the killer roared above his kill,But you danced on, and when some star would spillIts red and white upon you whirling there,I sensed a hidden beauty in the air;Though you danced on, my heart and I stood still.

But suddenly a bit of morning creptAlong your trembling sides of ebony;I saw the tears your tired limbs had wept,And how your breasts heaved high, how languidlyYour dark arms moved; I drew you close to me;We flung ourselves upon our hill and slept.