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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360264" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dancers: (During A Great Battle, 1916)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360264" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The floors are slippery with blood:<br>The world gyrates too. God is good<br>That while His wind blows out the light<br>For those who hourly die for is –<br>We still can dance each night.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360264" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The music has grown numb with death –<br>But we will suck their dying breath,<br>The whispered name they breathed to chance,<br>To swell our music, make it loud<br>That we may dance, - may dance.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=360264" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">We are the dull blind carrion-fly<br>That dance and batten. Though God die<br>Mad from the horror of the light –<br>The light is mad, too, flecked with blood, -<br>We dance, we dance, each night.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Dame+Edith+Louisa+Sitwell">Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell</a></strong></div>

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