To A Dancing Doll
Don Marquis
Formal, quaint, precise, and trim,
You begin your steps demurely—
There’s a spirit almost prim
In the feet that move so surely,
So discreetly, to the chime
Of the music that so sweetly
Marks the time.
But the chords begin to tinkle
Quicker,
And your feet they flash and flicker—
Twinkle!—
Flash and flutter to a tricksy
Fickle meter;
And you foot it like a pixie—
Only fleeter!
Now our current, dowdy
Things—
“Turkey-trots” and rowdy
Flings—
For they made you overseas
In politer times than these,
In an age when grace could please,
Ere St. Vitus
Clutched and shook us, spine and knees;—
Loosed a plague of jerks to smite us!
Well, our day is far more brisk
And our manner rather slacker),
And you are nothing more than bisque
And lacquer—
But you shame us with the graces
Of courtlier times and places
When the cheap
And vulgar wasn’t “art”—
When the faunal prance and leap
Weren’t “smart.”
Have we lost the trick of wedding
Grace to pleasure?
Must we clown it at the bidding
Of some tawdry, common measure?
Can’t you school us in the graces
Of your pose and dainty paces?—
Now the chords begin to tinkle
Quicker—
And your feet they flash and flicker—
Twinkle!—
And you mock us as you featly
Swing and flutter to the chime
Of the music-box that sweetly
Marks the time!
