70
THE DANCER
The pallid ladies with smudge of rougeIn their wrinkles, whispered behind a fan,With anxious eyes under powdered hair,For a tavern lass may entice a man, So they smirked . . but watched . . for belike the King Might weigh light coins with a jewelled ring!
She danced for the King . . . this is all we knowAnd all perhaps that the ladies knew,For the years have smothered with level gravesEven the tune that she footed to . . . And earth its sandals of green grass brings In the place of slippers that danced for kings!
