twas the day we roam’d the adamantine theatre, oating in diamond halls, we knew of a kind ballet, where strings hit the low’st note they could play, my attention then was drawn to three others, whose feet and strings render’d as two; in classical prowess, wonder, a backdrop of white and blue. as a ballerina jump’d to touch heavens gates, i did watch patiently, and so do you with me, wait for her swift feet to touch downward on earthly weight; and each string swung on the edge, as did my heart, and so did my ears and taste, trace paths on a usual strait, and so did you, eagerly bear witness to such an art. and so did i think with myself and debate, i wonder’d if you’ve ever wonder’d, why the dancers leap forward rather backward? my dearing love, let us not mind the quartet or the grecian martyr’s, i say, we dare to wonder, because if they leapt backward, they would collide with their partners!