Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,
fit for a king of several centuries back.
A little circus horse with real white hair.
His eyes are glossy black.
He bears a little dancer on his back.
She stands upon her toes and turns and turns.
A slanting spray of artificial roses
is stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice.
Above her head she poses
another spray of artificial roses.
His mane and tail are straight from Chirico.
He has a formal, melancholy soul.
He feels her pink toes dangle toward his back
along the little pole
that pierces both her body and her soul
and goes through his, and reappears below,
under his belly, as a big tin key.
He canters three steps, then he makes a bow,
canters again, bows on one knee,
canters, then clicks and stops, and looks at me.
The dancer, by this time, has turned her back.
He is the more intelligent by far.
Facing each other rather desperately—
his eye is like a star—
we stare and say, "Well, we have come this far."
Elizabeth Bishop's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Cirque D'Hiver by Elizabeth Bishop )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Electric Love, Electric Lady
- No More Dear Daddy!, Jyothirmia Uppu
- Invited To Explore, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Only One Way That Can Be Interpreted, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- ANNE FRANK FANTASIZES, jack peachum
- Psalm 065, Forrest Hainline
- The Village that Wasn't There!, David Lewis Paget
- start eating sushi now, wasabi warriors, Mandolyn Davidson
- Radha, Radha, Radha, You Are My Radha, Bijay Kant Dubey
- THE CHILDREN OF GOD, Tom Zart