Poems (Forrest)/The dancer

by Mabel Forrest

THE DANCER

It is written down in the steward's book
The coin he paid her the day she danced,
Nothing to tell of her name or state,
But the entry follows that, ill it chanced,
 She should dance the soles of her slippers thro'
 "Soe ye King hath given her slippers new."

Time has stained the page of the steward's book,
A wheezy seneschal and austere,
As he writ with a cramping feather pen,
A grey-goose quill from some reedy mere;
 Thro' the stilted letters there grimly rings
 Cold condemnations for girls and kings!

She danced for the King—were her slippers red?
Did she braid a riband among her hair?
Did she come in a sweeping 'broidered gown
Or with shameless shoulder and bosom bare?
 When she glanced at him as she floated by
 Did the King take note of a lip and eye?

Little eno' was her pay, I wot!
The steward tightened the leathern string
Of the bag of silvers "Moneyes paide
To a wench that danced for M'lord ye King."
 Yet she was glad for the ankles' grace
 That brought her bread, and some attic place. . .

The pallid ladies with smudge of rouge
In 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 know
And all perhaps that the ladies knew,
For the years have smothered with level graves
Even the tune that she footed to . . .
 And earth its sandals of green grass brings
 In the place of slippers that danced for kings!