PAVLOWA

I was working on The Daily News When I first heard of her, And from that time Until the day she came to town I longed to see her dance. The night the dancer and her ballet came The Desk assigned me to my nightly run Of hotels, clubs, and undertakers' shops; I was so green I had not learned The art of using telephones To make it seem That I was hot upon the trail of news While loafing otherwhere. How could I do my trick And also see her dance? So I left bread and butter flat, To feast my eyes, which had been prairie-fed, Upon this vision from another world. I'd seen the wind Go rippling over seas of wheat; I'd stood at night within a wood And felt the pulse of growing things Upon the April air; I'd seen the hawks arise and soar; And dragon-flies At sunrise over misty pools— But all these things had never known a name Until I saw Pavlowa dance. Next day the editor explained That although art was—art, He'd found a boy to take my place. The days that followed When I walked the town Seeking for some sort of work, The haze of Indian Summer Blended with the dream Of that one night's magic. And though I needed work to keep alive My thoughts would go no further Than Pavlowa as the maid Giselle ... Then cold days came, And found the dream a fabric much too thin; And finally a job, And I was back to stomach fare. But through the years I've nursed the sacrifice, Counting it a tribute Unlike all the things That Kings and Queens have laid before her feet; And wishing somehow she might know About the price The cub reporter paid To see Pavlowa dance. And then by trick of time, We came together at the Hippodrome; And every day I saw her dance. One morning in the darkened wings I saw a big-eyed woman in a filmy thing Go through the exercises Athletes use when training for a team; And from a stage-hand learned That this Pavlowa, incomparable one, Out of every day spent hours On elementary practice steps. And now somehow I can not find the heart To tell Pavlowa of the price I paid To see her dance.