Market Day

White, glittering sunlight fills the market square,

Spotted and sprigged with shadows. Double rows

Of bartering booths spread out their tempting shows

Of globed and golden fruit, the morning air

Smells sweet with ripeness, on the pavement there

A wicker basket gapes and overflows

Spilling out cool, blue plums. The market glows,

And flaunts, and clatters in its busy care.

A stately minster at the northern side

Lifts its twin spires to the distant sky,

Pinnacled, carved and buttressed; through the wide

Arched doorway peals an organ, suddenly —

Crashing, triumphant in its pregnant tide,

Quenching the square in vibrant harmony.