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One step—two step— Pardon if I use a pressure My arm dictates the measure, Madame. Listen You who wonder why I dance no longer At the court in Russia. War's the reason— I must fight or live elsewhere— War has naught to do with dancing. War is murder! Mars its wanton father. Sometimes Earth brings forth a bastard. On a silver night she smiles to say "This son of mine I do not breed to fight" I was born within this Mother-rhythm Of listening feet and low and lissome laughter Where ecstasy is breath and measure to the senses, And I can never be a citizen of slaughter. But Mars has sought to snare my feet with battle anthems, And all the day inside my alien head The rage that sped me here Shrieks to follow after. One step—two step— Rhythmed like marching soldiers, Swells to martial music In a language spiked with swords.