Now the Dreamer, who rode by night
In the car of the Spirit thro’ space,
Came in the blue of June morning,
In a mood betwixt pity and scorning,
To the populous market-place.
Afar in the infinite blue
Hung the snow-capped mountain-ranges;
But round him moved the press
Of the city's business
In kaleidoscopic changes.
For the square was all life and all colour,
All confusion and clamour,
As dealers showed the paces
Of colts, untamed in the traces,
To the rap of the auctioneer's hammer.
He saw there the dusty sheep
Trotting blindly amidst the throng;
The swine with quivering snouts,
The boys who urged them with shouts,
The hawkers of picture and song;
The brown-skinned peasants trudging
By their slow-paced bullock wains,
With children asprawl the load,
And wives who scolded and rode
With an eye to their husbands’ gains;
The hooknosed Orient merchants,
Who came in the caravans
And bargained over the prices
Of silks and carpets and spices,
Pearls and feathers and fans;
The clumsy sailors in ear-rings
From the echoing harbour beach,
With parrots and shells for their wares,
The light of the sun in their stares,
The sound of the wind in their speech.
And the shrill-voiced changers of money
Who sat with their clerks at the tables....
And it seemed to him all no matter
As he gazed... like the evening chatter
Of starlings under his gables.