|
Then
the dancer, Lifts her eyes to the gathering and, Waves a snaking, bejeweled hand; As floating tendrils of incense stirred, Soft and sudden there is heard, All around her, starting slow The sound of dum-tek, throbbing low She starts, she moves, she seems to feel The tempo pulse from head to heel Spurning with her foot the ground She lifts and turns around and round And lo! from the assembled crowd Rises a call, prolonged and loud Blending into the rhythmic beat Zaghareet upon zaghareet. Hypnotically the pulse does press The onlooker, with a smooth caress, Until every spellbound observer Imagines dancing there, with her. |
|
