Classic Poem

The M ERCHANTMAN

The M ARKETHAUNTERS

The Markethaunters: Now, while our money is piping hot
 From the mint of our toil that coins the sheaves,
Merchantman, merchantman, what have you got
 In your tabernacle hung with leaves?
What have you got?
  The sun rides high;
Our money is hot;
  We must buy, buy, buy!

The Merchantman: I come from the elfin king's demesne
 With chrysolite, hyacinth, tourmaline;
I have emeralds here of living green;
 I have rubies, each like a cup of wine;
And diamonds, diamonds that never have been
 Outshone by eyes the most divine!

The Markethaunters: Jewellery?—Baubles; bad for the soul;
 Desire of the heart and lust of the eye!

Diamonds, indeed! We wanted coal.
 What else do you sell? Come, sound your cry!
Our money is hot;
  The night draws nigh;
What have you got
  That we want to buy?

The Merchantman: I have here enshrined the soul of the rose
 Exhaled in the land of the daystar's birth;
I have casks whose golden staves enclose
 Eternal youth, eternal mirth;
And cordials that bring repose,
 And the tranquil night, and the end of the earth.

The Markethaunters: Rapture of wine? But it never pays:
 We must keep our common-sense alert.
Raisins are healthier, medicine says—
 Raisins and almonds for dessert.
But we want to buy;
  For our money is hot,
And age draws nigh:
  What else have you got?

The Merchantman: I have lamps that gild the lustre of noon;
 Shadowy arrows that pierce the brain;
Dulcimers strung with beams of the moon;
 Psalteries fashioned of pleasure and pain;
A song and a sword and a haunting tune
 That may never be offered the world again.

The Markethaunters: Dulcimers! psalteries! Whom do you mock?
 Arrows and songs? We have axes to grind!
Shut up your booth and your mouldering stock,
 For we never shall deal.—Come away; let us find
What the others have got
  We must buy, buy, buy;
For our money is hot,
  And death draws nigh.