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More poems by R.S. ThomasR.S. Thomas | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by R.S. ThomasBooks by R.S. Thomas

The Dance

R.S. Thomas

She is young. Have I the right
Even to name her? Child,
It is not love I offer
Your quick limbs, your eyes;
Only the barren homage
Of an old man whom time
Crucifies. Take my hand
A moment in the dance,
Ignoring its sly pressure,
The dry rut of age,
And lead me under the boughs
Of innocence. Let me smell
My youth again in your hair.


Submitted by Philippa Kaye

Added: 2 Mar 2003 | Last Read: 23 Apr 2018 9:46 AM | Viewed: 6750 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/8084/ | Viewed on 23 April 2018.
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