II

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.