The Dance

Between light and shadow, sing to me, Whisper soft like leaves intwined, And though the increasing night surrounds: Let music carry tender notes abloom.

If beaten hearts do rise as one, Lift toward the sacred beam, Shall all the trees in truth now burn— To illumine the quiet smoke?

Still artists are and weave their song, The dance—timid yet holds tight, So dreamers too, and realms anew, Awaken in the silence bright.

—Henry David Thoreau

• Henry David Thoreau