[1887–1918]

Dead dancer, how is this?—the laurel here
Upon your bier?
The brazen wings, the sword—and the shrill tone
Of bugles blown?

Why do you wear, light-footed one—O proud!—
The flag for shroud?
Where have you danced? from what high-spherèd dome
Have you come home?

Bravo!—you trod the measure gallantly,
Swiftly flew free!
Goodbye—perhaps your flight has just begun
Under the sun.