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Dream-Songs for the Belovèd

Chapter 8: THE DANCE-RING

By Eleanor Farjeon

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About This Book

An intimate collection of lyrical poems that weave dreamlike imagery, devotional longing, and quiet philosophical reflection. The speaker addresses a beloved presence and considers love as both gift and transformative occupation, often finding silence and music in place of conventional expression. Imagery moves between night, pastoral meadows, classical myth, and fogbound streets to explore memory, beauty, loss, and the creative impulse. Forms vary from short lyrics and sonnet-like pieces to longer idylls and mythic narratives, shifting voice between intimate address and contemplative reportage. The overall mood balances tenderness and austerity, repeatedly returning to themes of spiritual vision and the limits of language.

THE DANCE-RING

It was the middle of the spring

I saw three girls dance in a ring.

One was golden as the day,

Around her neck bright tresses lay.

One as hazel-nuts was brown

And to her feet her hair fell down.

One was black as midnight sky,

Her locks were like a crown piled high.

"Sweetings, shall I with ye fling?

It is the middle of the spring."

I heard the three together sing:

"No man shall break our dancing-ring."

"Sweetings, that ye cannot tell—

Unkind sweetings, fare ye well."

Then each a mocking kiss did blow:

"Give us presents ere you go."

"You that the morning-glow outvie

For all my gift shall take a sigh.

To you that like the ebbing year

In russet go I give a tear.

With you that seem of night to weave

Your grace a broken heart I leave."

Then as from them I turned my feet

I listened how they laughèd sweet:

And "Fare you well," their laughter ran,

"Broken-hearted gentleman."

But shoulder-over I did call:

"Dance on, ye scornful sweetings all.

"When I am lost in shadows grey

My gifts ye shall not fling away.

"While still the spring beneath your feet

Flows green your ring shall stand complete.

"But when the year begins to turn

My gifts to use ye well shall learn.

"And one shall sigh and one shall weep

And one shall crave eternal sleep."

It was the middle of the spring

I saw three girls dance in a ring.

One was a yellow rose new-blown,

One as hazel-nuts was brown,

One she wore a midnight crown.

(My heart is still a-hungering.)