THE NEW YORK CLIPPER ALMANAC.
 

23
 

THE    E>ANCINa    OIRLS

written  for  the   NEAV  YORK  CLIPPER  ALMANAC.
 

LIGHT as any sylph or fairy,
Teeming full of Avinsome graces.
Supple-jointed, trim and airy.

Rounded forms and gloAving faces;
Lithe of hmb and SAvift of motion.
Flashing eyes and truant curls—
Surely you are blest of mortals,
Pretty, witching ballet-girls!

When I see you flushed and smiling.

Poised upon A'our dainty toes.
With your tapering arms uplifted.

Whiter than the Winter's snoAvs;
When I see your sAvelling bosoms.

And vour teeth like purest pearls-
Then Isay you're blest of mortals.

Pretty, dashing ballet-girls!

When I catch the sheen and shimmer

Of the spangles' brilliant lustre;
When I see the jewels glimmer

In a richly radiant cluster;
When I mark the many graces

Which your tripping art unfurls—
Then I think you blest of mortals,

Pretty, graceful ballet-girls.

When I hear the music sAvelling

Into strains supremely sweet;
When I sit, enraptured Avholly

By the poetry of your feet;
When the loud applause outbreaking

Through the pit and gallery whlrte—
Then I'd SAvear you're blest of mortals.

Pretty, pampered ballet-girls.

Yet at times I Avonder, gazing

At your tinseled, gauzy glory-
Wonder if the footlights blazing
Oied a glamor, transitory,
 

Over lives which are not always
Brightened bv their fitful glare;

Overlives which know the shadows
Of privation and despair!

On the stasje, you rightly borrow

Somewhat of its blinding arts;
Would I find no trace of sorroAA^

Could I look into your hearts ?
On the stage I see you smiling.

Lithe, and blithe as fancied elves;
Would I find such wealth of smiling

Could I knoAV your truer selves ?

Stiipped of all the gloss and glitter.

Which the stage at best but lends.
Would I find no AvormAVOod, bitter.

In the cup which Fortune tends ?
Could I see your lives recorded—

Triumphs, struggles, all complete—
Would I find them half as rhythmic

As the poetry of your feet ?

Ah my pretty, smiling dancers.

Some of you have seen, I fear,
A.11 the glamor of the night-time

With the niajht-time disappear;
While the sterner lite that Avaits j'OU

Through the hours of the day
Brinss no gaudy, spangled splendCH*,

Like the life Avithin the play.

Yet, as light as any fairy.

Teeming full of winsome graces,
Supple-iointed, trim and airy,

I behold your glowing faces;
And may Fate, in mood that's graCifilS,

When your future she unfurls,
Make you truly blest of rnortals.

Pretty, patient ballet-girls 1