Dancing is silent poetry.

Dancing is silent poetry.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastic round.

It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance. It is the dream afraid of waking that never read more

It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance. It is the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance. It is the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give. And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live.

Those who hear not the music think the dancers mad

Those who hear not the music think the dancers mad

Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
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Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying dances
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the meadows;
Old fold and young together, and children mingled among them.

This dance of death which sounds so musically
Was sure intended for the corpse de ballet.

This dance of death which sounds so musically
Was sure intended for the corpse de ballet.

My dancing days are done.

My dancing days are done.

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who
could not hear the music.

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who
could not hear the music.

On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.

On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.