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Ode to my dancing shoes

by Susan Amessé

The music commences
It fills the room
Its cadence sublime
I look around
Smiling faces, hands four
My spirit elevates
Heartbeat quickens, gravity suspends
My dancing shoes pulsate
These worn friends
Lift me
To paradise

Shoes photographed by
Sally Ehrlich Hoffman

Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone
     How falls the polished hammer!
Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown
     A quick and merry clamor.
Now shape the sole! now deftly curl
     The glossy vamp around it,
And bless the while the bright-eyed girl
     Whose gentle fingers bound it!

For you, along the Spanish main
     A hundred keels are ploughing;
For you, the Indian on the plain
    His lasso-coil is throwing;
For you, deep glens with hemlock dark
     The woodman's fire is lighting;
For you, upon the oak's gray bark,
    The woodman's axe is smiting.

The foremost still, by day or night,
     On moated mound or heather,
Where'er the need of trampled right
     Brought toiling men together;
Where the free burghers from the wall
     Defied the mail-clad master,
Than yours at Freedom's trumpet-call,
     No craftsmen rallied faster.

Let foplings sneer, let fools deride,
     Ye heed no idle scorner;
Free hands and hearts are still your pride,
     And duty done, your honor.
Ye dare to trust, for honest fame,
     The jury Time empanels,
And leave to truth each noble name
     Which glorifies your annals.

The foot is yours; where'er it falls,
      It treads your well-wrought leather,
On earthen floor, in marble halls,
      On carpet, or on heather.
Still there the sweetest charm is found
      Of matron grace or vestal's,
As Hebe's foot bore nectar round
      Among the old celestials!

Rap! rap! -- your stout and bluff brogan,
      With footsteps slow and weary,
May wander where the sky's blue span
      Shuts down upon the prairie.
On Beauty's foot your slippers glance,
      By Saratoga's fountains,
Or twinkle down the summer dance
      Beneath the Crystal Mountains!