Classic Poem

The gleeman sang in the market-town;
The market-folk went up and down.

His blue eyes waned when thronging thought
Would not obey as visions ought,
Then flashed and flung their radiance straight —
Availing prayer — at heaven's gate;
And thought and word chimed with the tune.
His scarlet cloak and sandal shoon,
His tunic with the silver fur,
Of forest green and minever,
His golden brooch and carcanet,
Was not the garb that gleemen get.
So said the dames; the dreamy girls
Gazed only on his golden curls;
The sapless ancients sneered and frowned;
The young men with a spell were bound,
And eyed his gleaming, studded belt,
The scabbard and the jewelled hilt.

But no one praised the harp of gold
His fingers deftly rang,
Or listened to the things he told,
But this is what he sang;

" Loose your knotted brains awhile,
Market-people, sore bested;
Traffic palsies all your isle;
Hear a message from the dead.

" Though the sultry flood of life
Brims my veins; though starry truth
Still maintains a changing strife
With the purple dreams of youth.

" Songs the master-makers wrought —
Who are now the guests of death,
Lulled by echoes of their thought —
Fill me with their eager breath.

" What! You stare with horny eyes,
And my singing-robes you scan?
You would make my sword your prize?
Maidens only see the man?

" Learned clerk with icy sneer,
Must I strike a lower clef?
Hear, O heaven, and earth, give ear,
I will sing though men be deaf!

" And the throbbing sky shall list,
And the rivers cease to bound,
Startled mountains pierce the mist,
Happy valleys drink the sound.

" Earth is fairer than we know:
Shining hours and golden beams!
Lilies sigh, and roses glow,
And the beasts have noble dreams.

" Lo! the youngest soul is scarred,
Blanched with tears and dyed with stains,
For the world is evil-starred,
But the vision still remains:

" Plenty, from her bounteous horn,
Dealing bread instead of stones;
Golden lands of nodding corn
Lusty labour reaps and owns;

" Fearless suns, and no sick star,
No more maiden moons ashamed,
Cities sweet as forests are,
Sin unthought, unknown, unnamed;

" Babes that wail not in the night,
Wretched heirs of poisoned lives;
No young souls that long for light,
Festering in scholastic gyves;

" Not a damsel made the tomb
Of a thousand loves unchaste;
Woman mistress of her womb,
Never bound to be embraced;

" Man by hunger unsubdued,
Conqueror of the primal curse,
Master of his subtlest mood,
Master of the universe. "

He wrapped his cloak about his face,
And left the bustling market-place.
The juggler had an audience,
The mountebank drew showers of pence,
The pardoner cheapened heaven for gold:
I ween the market-folk were sold.