The Secret Splendour

Amid the whining of the saxophone

And the swift whisper of the dancing feet—

Amid the music's strangle-throated moan

And hundred swinging bodies' colour-heat,

She lures me with far world-triumphant lips

As though in one brief thrill of ecstasy

A wandering voice of epic destiny

Haunted the rhythmic swaying of her hips

.

Now ancient vows have vanished: for a space

We drift along a frenzied path of tune,

Although we know the stark morn will erase

This whirling scripture of the magic moon.

And kissing her vague mouth I scent the air

Of that lone night when neath the Trojan sail

Daughter of Leda passionate and pale

 Unbound the tender gloaming of her hair.

I give the heart of Priam's ageless son

To star-born Helen for those paces few;

The clamorous labyrinth of the jazz is run

And faithless feet once more old ways pursue.

 For thus we moderns drink of love's fierce joy:

We launch no ships: we yield—the Moment's thralls—

And disappear. With foxtrot and with waltz

We trace upon our lives the tale of Troy.

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