There is nothing to be frightened of, she said,
but come along and lie here on the bed.
We spoke of country dancing and of how
so very sad it was to have to dance alone,
to move in time with no-one’s steps and music but your own.
But there is nothing to be frightened of, she said,
and come, my dear, and lie down on the bed.
And country dancing was the only time I ever moved.
A solitary shuffler, shadow-partnered, I improved,
danced the days away from wall to wall
and, although I often stumbled, they had taught me how to fall.
But when the dancing ended I could always hear
a voice that told me there was nothing there at all to fear.
There is absolutely nothing to be frightened of my dear.
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Comments about this poem (Country Dancing by Brian Wake )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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