Dance: Scenes from Heaven and Hell

A circle of tender lovers. A mound of human flesh, limbs dangling askew. A metaphor that combines fertility and civility. An image of doom and despair. It is a tribute to Paul Taylor's burgeoning imagination that in two new pieces premiered at Manhattan's City Center Theater, he has choreographed a pair of utterly different works, not so much contrasting as reflecting separate meditations on the human condition.

The Paul Taylor Dance Company, formed 30 years ago, is often described as the last true modern dance group, before the movement divided into various postmodern strands. If energy, cohesiveness and a deeply shared dance idiom are the characteristics of a "classic" modern company, then Taylor's troupe of 17 performers practically embodies the term. It seems to be on a particular roll now, bringing extra power and velocity to some of the most physically demanding choreography ever made.

Roses is Taylor's new affirmation, a celestial reverie on romantic love. Most of it is set to Wagner's Siegfried Idyll, a famous orchestral set piece that generations of concertgoers associate with the mythical warrior hero whose undoing came not in battle but in love. No matter. Taylor, though an astutely musical choreographer, has never cared much about the public history of the scores he picks. The Siegfried Idyll is the erotic pulse that the ballet moves to. In the long first section, five couples proclaim their love with both passion and a delicate concern for each other that is ineffably moving. The music changes to the Adagio for Clarinet and Strings, a brief, little-known chamber composition, also by Wagner. The couples recline at the rear of the stage, the women cradled between the men's knees. A sixth couple, David Parsons and Cathy McCann, costumed in dazzling white, enter and dance a charming, fluid duet. In the end the whole cast is joined in serene repose.

Roses is hypnotic to watch now, but it will probably get even better. It requires the kind of elegant, vigilant partnering usually associated with classical ballet and not much required in Taylor's lexicon. The dancers move through their roles in a slightly gingerly fashion, but they will loosen up. It may be that Roses is a little too idealized and courtly. In mood it has links to both Arden Court (1981), a brimming, buoyant, rather randy celebration, and the earlier Aureole (1962), a formal, pristine "white" ballet danced to Handel. In all these works, Taylor is like a benign god, bemused and profligate with his gifts: roles that buff his stage creatures to a high polish and provide audiences with airy, expansive images to contemplate.