As in one's hand a lighted match
blinds you before it comes aflame
and sends out brilliant
flickering tongues to every side --
so, within the ring of the spectators
her dance begins in hasty,
heated rhythms and spreads itself
darting flames around.
And suddenly, the dance is altogether flame!
With a fierce glance she sets her hair alight.
Unexpectedly, she turns with daring artfulness
the swirling flounces of her dress
within this conflagaration,
out of which her upheld naked arms,
clapping the castanets, appear like serpents striking.
And then, afraid her fire were diminishing,
she gathers it all up and flings it down
with an imperious haughtly gesture,
and watches as it lies there
writhing on the ground,
unyielding and unwilling to concede
the dance has ended.
Yet she show victory in her sweet
swift smile as she lifts up her face,
while with her small firm feet
she stamps out the last of the dying embers.
~ Ranier Maria Rilke
