DANCE-SONG
By Jaroslav Seifert
It's been a long time since I wrote poems which danceAnd danced badly myself.
Still, sometimes even a stiff knee Can beat good rhythm.
Now I go back shamefully
To the first one: She had tangled bronze hair which hung In one thick braid down to the waist
And when she danced faster, and faster, It flew heavily after her
Like a tamed bird.
And I often return to Jindrishka (Although I don't feel like it).
She vanished in the deep grass of this world And I haven't seen her since. But then
Just as my feet slide into my shoes I remember her
And the shoes take me to that face circled with ash blonde hair.
The third one, the one who always believed
That love was just loud kisses
And gentle words, Is now angry with me. The one under whose window I used to whistle
When she refused to show herself to me Danced superbly.
She always lost her little combs,
Broke her bracelet, Her madonna's medal spilled to the floor,
And who knows what else.
But there isn't enough of anything as long as we live.
The feet suddenly stop,
The dance breaks up in the middle, No need for strong arms until winter comes
And the palms of hands save themselves For other work.
Finally, the last one appears. She's confused, doesn't dance,
That's why she's the most beautiful, And is, until death, alone.
And now that one does not exist either.
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