Symi Chorós (Drape Dance)

There is a dance held in the sky,

Too far beyond to hold, for I,

With my own ballerina’s limbs

Can’t imitate a Grecian nymph.

And though I pirouette and twirl,

I cannot fly above the world

The way Terpsichore must do,

Making a blur of earthly views.

There is a blur, a blank white muse,

Circling much like a nimbic bruise,

Quite out of reach for men like I,

And even so for Gods alike.

But if I could be found up there,

Like one of Cupid’s babish heirs,

Then I might see a great white cape,

Or something of a dancing drape.