And what would I do in heaven pray,
Me with my dancing feet?
And limbs like apple boughs that
When the gusty rain winds beat.
And how would I thrive in a perfect
Where dancing would be a sin,
With not a man to love my face,
Nor an arm to hold me in?
The seraphs and the
Would be too proud to bend,
To sing the faery tunes that
My heart from end to end.
The wistful angels down in
Will smile to see my face,
And understand, because they
From that all-perfect place.
