Best Poems About Dance That'll Get Your Feet Tapping Instantly

3 best poems about dance
If you're a dancer, or if someone close to you is a dancer, you (and them!) are going to love these poems about dancing, dancers, and the happiness that dance brings.
"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life!"
― Abba, Dancing Queen
Dancing lifts you in the air, makes you want to fly, makes you feel like you're the only person in the world.. sounds familiar? Yes, dancers do feel that way, and famous poets have wonderfully put these emotions into words.

The thing about dancing is, it makes one lose himself/herself in the music, and brings absolute, pure joy to not just the one who is dancing, but also to the one who is watching.

We're giving you a list of 21 dance poems which are inspirational, beautiful, and will touch your heart. You might be pleasantly surprised, several famous poets feel the same way you do!
Spanish Dancer by Rainer Maria Rilke
As in one's hand a lighted match blinds you before
it comes aflame and sends out brilliant flickering
tongues to every side - so, within the ring of the
spectators, her dance begins in hasty, heated rhythms
and spreads itself darting flames around.

And suddenly the dance is altogether flame!

With a fierce glance she sets her hair alight.
Unexpectedly she turns with daring artfulness
the swirling flounces of her dress within this
conflagration, out of which her upheld naked arms,
clapping the castanets, appear like serpents striking.

And then, afraid her fire were diminishing,
she gathers it all up and flings it down
with an imperious haughtily gesture, and watches
as it lies there writhing on the ground, unyielding
and unwilling to concede the dance has ended.
Yet she show victory in her sweet swift smile
as she lifts up her face, while with her small firm feet
she stamps out the last of the dying embers.
Dance by Mary Carolyn Davies
God's in me when I dance.
God, making Spring
Out of his thoughts
And building worlds
By wishing.
God
Laughing at his own
Queer fancies,
Standing awed,
And sobbing;
Musing,
Dreaming,
Throbbing;
Commanding;
Creating-
God's in me
When I dance.
Sweet Dancer by William Butler Yeats
The girl goes dancing there
On the leaf-sown, new-mown, smooth
Grass plot of the garden;
Escaped from bitter youth,
Escaped out of her crowd,
Or out of her black cloud.
Ah, dancer, ah, sweet dancer!

If strange men come from the house
To lead her away, do not say
That she is happy being crazy;
Lead them gently astray;
Let her finish her dance,
Let her finish her dance.
Ah, dancer, ah, sweet dancer!
Indian Dancers by Sarojini Naidu
Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire
Drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens that glimmer around them in fountains of light;
O wild and entrancing the strain of keen music that cleaveth the stars like a wail of desire,
And beautiful dancers with houri-like faces bewitch the voluptuous watches of night.

The scents of red roses and sandalwood flutter and die in the maze of their gem-tangled hair,
And smiles are entwining like magical serpents the poppies of lips that are opiate-sweet;
Their glittering garments of purple are burning like tremulous dawns in the quivering air,
And exquisite, subtle and slow are the tinkle and tread of their rhythmical, slumber-soft feet.

Now silent, now singing and swaying and swinging, like blossoms that bend to the breezes or showers,
Now wantonly winding, they flash, now they falter, and, lingering, languish in radiant choir;
Their jewel-girt arms and warm, wavering, lily-long fingers enchant through melodious hours,
Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate bosoms aflaming with fire!
The Ballet School by Russell Hughes
O, what a ballet-school!
The master is the boisterous springtime wind.
Under his rough instruction, slim grass blades
Curve and bend and learn their porte de bras.
The dandelions pirouette in skirts
Of yellow tarlatan. They are younger, yet
Are premier ballerinas striving to
Become as excellent in technique as
The pink peach-blossom, caught from off her bough
And flung (by a designing maitre-ballet)
Across the floor among the corps-ballet.
Three robins and a cello-throated dove
Make fitting music for pliez and turns,
And arabesques,
O, what a ballet-school!
Dancer by Carl Sandburg
The lady in red, she in the chile con carne red,
Brilliant as the shine of a pepper crimson in the summer sun,
She behind a false-face, the much sought-after dancer, the most sought-after dancer of all in this masquerade,
The lady in red sox and red hat, ankles of willow, crimson arrow amidst the Spanish clashes of music,
I sit in a corner
watching her dance first with one man
and then another.
I Cannot Dance Upon My Toes by Emily Dickinson
I cannot dance upon my Toes-
No Man instructed me-
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,
That had I Ballet knowledge-
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe-
Or lay a Prima, mad,
And though I had no Gown of Gauze-
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences-like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,
Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so-
Nor any know I know the Art
I mention-easy-Here-
Nor any Placard boast me-
It's full as Opera-
They Who Dance by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
The feet of dancers
Shine with mirth,
Their hearts are vibrant as bells:
The air flows by them
Divided like water
Cut by a gleaming ship.
Triumphantly their bodies sing,
Their eyes are blind
With music.
They move through threatening ghosts
Feeling them cool as mist
On their brows.
They who dance
Find infinite golden floors
Beneath their feet.
The Baby's Dance by Ann Taylor
Dance little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round;
Dance little baby, and mother shall sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding.
The Belle of the Ball by William Mackworth Praed
I saw her at a county ball;
There when the sound of flute and fiddle
Gave signal sweet in that old hall,
Of hands across and down the middle,
Hers was the subtlest spell by far
Of all that sets young hearts romancing;
She was the queen, our rose, our star;
And when she danced-Oh, heaven, her dancing!
I Praise The Dance by Saint Augustine
I praise the dance,
for it frees people from the heaviness of matter
and binds the isolated to community.
I praise the dance, which demands everything:
health and a clear spirit and a buoyant soul.
Dance is a transformation of space, of time, of people,
who are in constant danger of becoming all brain,
will, or feeling.
Dancing demands a whole person,
one who is firmly anchored in the center of his life,
who is not obsessed by lust for people and things
and the demon of isolation in his own ego
Dancing demands a freed person,
one who vibrates with the equipoise of all his powers.
I praise the dance.
O man, learn to dance,
or else the angels in heaven will not know
what to do with you.
The Lobster Quadrille by Lewis Carroll
"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail,
"There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my
tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle-will you come and join the
dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the
dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the
dance?

"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be
When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out
to sea!"
But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look
askance-

Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join
the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join
the dance.
Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join
the dance.

"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied.
"There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France-
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the
dance.
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the
dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the
dance?"
Imogen by Sir Henry Newbolt
Ladies, where were your bright eyes glancing,
Where were they glancing yester-night?
Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing,
Imogen dancing all in white?
Laughed she not with a pure delight,
Laughed she not with a joy serene,
Stepped she not with a grace entrancing,
Slenderly girt in silken sheen?

All through the night from dusk to daytime
Under her feet the hours were swift,
Under her feet the hours of play-time
Rose and fell with a rhythmic lift:
Music set her adrift, adrift,
Music eddying towards the day
Swept her along as brooks in May-time
Carry the freshly falling May.

Ladies, life is a changing measure,
Youth is a lilt that endeth soon;
Pluck ye never so fast at pleasure
Twilight follows the longest noon.
Nay, but here is a lasting boon,
Life for hearts that are old and chill,
Youth undying for hearts that treasure
Imogen dancing, dancing still.
Gratiana Dancing and Singing by Richard Lovelace
See! with what constant motion,
Even, and glorious as the sun,
Gratia a steers that noble frame,
Soft as her breast, sweet as her voice,
That gave each winding law and poise,
And swifter than the wings of Fame.

She beat the happy pavement--
By such a star made firmament,
Which now no more the roof envies!
But swells up high, with Atlas even,
Bearing the brighter, nobler heaven,
And, in her, all the deities.

Each step trod out a lover's thought,
And the ambitious hopes he brought
Chained to her brave feet with such arts,
Such sweet command and gentle awe,
As, when she ceased, we sighing saw
The floor lay paved with broken hearts.

So did she move, so did she sing,
Like the harmonious spheres that bring
Unto their rounds their music's aid;
Which she performed such a way
As all the enamoured world will say,
'The Graces danced, and Apollo played!'
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The Children Dancing by Robert Laurence Binyon
Away, sad thoughts, and teasing
Perplexities, away!
Let other blood go freezing,
We will be wise and gay.
For here is all heart-easing,
An ecstasy at play.
The children dancing, dancing,
Light upon happy feet,
Both eye and heart entrancing
Mingle, escape, and meet;
Come joyous-eyed and advancing
Or floatingly retreat.
Now slow, now swifter treading
Their paces timed and true,
An instant poised, then threading
A maze of printless clue,
Their motions smoothly wedding
To melody anew,
They sway in chime, and scatter
In looping circles; they
Are Music's airy matter,
And their feet move, the way
The raindrops shine and patter
On tossing flowers in May.
As if those flowers were singing
For joy of the clean air,
As if you saw them springing
To dance the breeze, so fair
The lissom bodies swinging,
So light the flung-back hair.
And through the mind enchanted
A happy river goes
By its own young carol haunted
And bringing where it flows
What all in the world has wanted
And who in this world knows?
April Midnight by Arthur Symons
Side by side through the streets at midnight,
Roaming together,
Through the tumultuous night of London,
In the miraculous April weather.
Roaming together under the gaslight,
Day's work over,
How the Spring calls to us, here in the city,
Calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!
Cool to the wind blows, fresh in our faces,
Cleansing, entrancing,
After the heat and the fumes and the footlights,
Where you dance and I watch your dancing.
Good it is to be here together,
Good to be roaming,
Even in London, even at midnight,
Lover-like in a lover's gloaming.
You the dancer and I the dreamer,
Children together,
Wandering lost in the night of London,In the miraculous April weather.
Ballet by Alan Lukawenko
Ballet is beauty in the making...
Line of sight...do you know what it means?
What do you think of Sylvie Guillem?
Pointe shoes,..yes I know it's painful for some,
but must surely make you feel like an angel...on a cloud.
Angels must dream of ballerinas...don't you think?
Dance Is Like Life by Michelle Lyon
Learning to dance is like life.
You take baby steps,tiny leaps and jumps,
Someone's always there when you cry.
Things are starting to come together,
Your once new shoes are feeling softer and worn
Each delicate pointe is becoming more like an arch.
Leaps and kicks become stronger each time,
Soon you realize your every jump and kick is right,
The steps are fluid pouring out of a jar,
Everyday you're twirling into a new adventure,
Every dance you dance makes you a star.
While The Fates Sleep by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Come, let us to the sunways of the west,
Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill,
Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest
O'er whispering wold and hill.
Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep
Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea,
They shall be ours in the moon's wizardry,
While the fates, wearied, sleep.

The viewless spirit of the wind will sing
In the soft starshine by the reedy mere,
The elfin harps of hemlock boughs will ring
Fitfully far and near;
The fields will yield their trove of spice and musk,
And balsam from the glens of pine will fall,
Till twilight weaves its tangled shadows all
In one dim web of dusk.

Let us put tears and memories away,
While the fates sleep time stops for revelry;
Let us look, speak, and kiss as if no day
Has been or yet will be;
Let us make friends with laughter 'neath the moon,
With music on the immemorial shore,
Yea, let us dance as lovers danced of yore-
The fates will waken soon!
Dream Variations by Langston Hughes
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me-
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.
The Cat and The Moon by W. B. Yeats
The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet,
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
Don't you just immediately relate to these poems, and don't they simply make you smile? Dancing brings people together from all over the world―you could say, it is a universal language. It doesn't matter if you think you have two left feet, you can still simply lose yourself in the music, dance like nobody's watching, and have the time of your life!
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