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I have only seen her dancing in my head.
Wild, her flame-hued hair heaps halo-like round hers;
Licks her limbs of ivory – sweet chance! –
It whips about her tranquil face,
And hides her absent eyes,
While all her frame
Is lithe.
See the western Salomé and trace her tread,
Weaving swarthy eastern dances white and red.
Slip and slide in snaking forms with look of lead,
Mind and body separate, and this occurs,
Salomé, because you live the dance.
But when the mundane life gives chase,
Then movement fills the eyes,
So body lame
Stays blithe.
Samuel Reed
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