ACROBATES
Y little lady light o’ limb
Twirls on her lover's twisting toes.
Lithe as a lynx, red as a rose,
She spins aloft and laughs at him.
So gay the pose, so quaint the whim,
One stares and stares: it grows and grows.
So swift the air she seems to skim
One’s senses dazzle; wonder glows
Warm in one’s veins like love—who knows?
One follows till one’s eyes are dim
My little lady light o’ limb.
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