The Swan
The trumpets were curled away, the drum beat no more,
Only the Swan, the Swan, danced in my brain
All night she spun, dropped, lifted again
Arched and curved her arms, sunk on the
Snow-brittle feathers skirting her, reclined on hands
Buckling her waist, where the moon glanced
How small her waist was, and the feet that dance
Sometimes she bent back, and a breeze fanned
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