20 JULY 1956, Page 19

BALLROOM BACCHANTE

Sexophonic, brazen Cretan screams the Muse, by drumsticks beaten.

Nymph and satyr, corybantic here make hay—and their hay's antic.

Spastic marionette, her shape is formal; his, a lawless drape.

See him giving all he's got while she is swinging what he's not.

See her, see her twirl and give him all that goes with having rhythm; barebacked, bottom, like a ship's rolling as she rides and dips.

And lo ! the face that sways those hips.

Painted china, chilly, dumb and (not in tempo) chewing gum.

So whether truth is Be or Do, a lie at heart would seem implied— and even if her heart be true, that bosom's clearly falsified.

The Golden Age is gone, alas!

• • •