The Dance
by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

As the Wind and as the Wind
⁠      In a corner of the way,
Goes stepping, stands twirling,
Invisibly, comes whirling,
Bows before and skips behind
⁠      In a grave, an endless play—

So my Heart and so my Heart
⁠      Following where your feet have gone,
Stirs dust of old dreams there;
He turns a toe; he gleams there,
Treading you a dance apart.
⁠      But you see not. You pass on.

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