DREAMER-OF-THE-AGE
And yet the empty-handed
Hold richer merchandise
Than ever fable landed
From Dreamland's argosies,
Since we, the symbol-merchants,
Are partners with Bulbul.
The silversmith of her chants
Knows how our chests are full.
In marts, where echoes answer
And only they, we trade.
But join our caravan, sir,
And count your fortune made.
Dawn brings us dazzling offers
With fingers gemmed and pearled,
And evening fills our coffers
As we explain the world,
Green fields and seas that curtsey
To us and mock Despair;
For blossoms in the dirt see
Their spirit in the air.
And Ecstasy our servant
Demands no other wage
But that we be observant
To joy in pilgrimage.