Classic Poem

Shall I not wear my motley
And flaunt my bladder of green
Before the earls and the bishops
And the laughing king and queen;
Though hunger is in my belly
And jests my lips between?

Men listen a moment idly
To the foolishness I sing—
But my words are sharp and bitter
In savour and in sting,
And harder than mail in battle
Where the heavy maces swing.

For full of the sap of folly
Grow the branches of the Creed,
The fine adventurous folly
God gave us in our need,
When He yielded up to scornful death
The human brows that bleed.

They nailed the son of Mary
On a gibbet straight and tall;
But the eagles of the Roman
Were struck in Cæsar'Shall,
And the veil of the Holy of Holies
Was rent in the temple wall.

Wiser than sage or prophet,
Or the pedant of the school,
Than lord or abbot or priest or prince
Who over the nations rule,
Are the cap and bells and the motley
And the laughter of the fool!