All feel for the measure advancing;
The rich and the poor, the old and the young;
But winding-sheets hinder the dancing.
Since sense of decorum no longer impedes,
They hasten to shake themselves free of their weeds,
And tombstones are quickly beshrouded.
Then legs kick about and are lifted in air,
Strange gesture and antic repeating;
The bones crack and rattle, and crash here and there,
As if to keep time they were beating.