The Dance
(Rupert Brooke)

As the Wind, and as the Wind,
  In a corner of the way,
Goes skipping, stands twirling,
Invisibly, comes whirling,
Bows before, and skips behind,
  In a grave, an endless play –

So my Heart, and so my Heart,
  Following where your feet have gone,
Stirs dust of old dreams there;
He turns a toe; he gleams there,
Treading you a dance apart.
  But you see not. You pass on. 

gleam – skinne / gnistre