She Of The Dancing Feet Sings

And what would I do in heaven pray,

Me with my dancing feet?

And limbs like apple boughs that sway

When the gusty rain winds beat.

And how would I thrive in a perfect place

Where dancing would be a sin,

With not a man to love my face,

Nor an arm to hold me in?

The seraphs and the cherubim

Would be too proud to bend,

To sing the faery tunes that brim

My heart from end to end.

The wistful angels down in hell

Will smile to see my face,

And understand, because they fell

From that all-perfect place.