The Pedlar's Song

I tramped among the townward throng

A sultry summer's morn:

They mocked me loud, they mocked me long,

They laughed my pack to scorn.

But a likely pedlar holds his peace

Until the reckoning's told:—

Merrily I to market went, tho’ songs were all my gold.

At weary noon I left the town,

I left the highway straight,

I climbed the silent, sunlit down

And stood by a castle gate.

Never yet was a house too high

When the pedlar's heart was bold:—

Merrily I to market went, tho’ songs were all my gold.

A lady leaned from her window there

And asked my wares to see;

Her voice made rich the summer air,

Richer my soul in me.

She gave me only four little words,

Words of a language old:—

Merrily I from market came, for all my songs were sold.