Yes; bread and cheese; he would not touch the meat

_The Wife:_

But see, the cheese is whole, the loaf unbroken, And both are fresh. And see, another token: Those hard green apples that the farmer gave Have grown to these gold globes, like Blenheims brave; And look, how came these plums of Persh.o.r.e here?

_The Showman:_

We have been sitting with a saint, my dear.

_The Wife._

Look at the b.u.t.terflies!

Like floating flowers Came b.u.t.terflies, the souls of summer hours, Fluttering about the van; Red Admirals rich, Scarlet and pale on breathing speeds of pitch, Brimstones, like yellow poppy petals blown, Brown ox-eyed Peac.o.c.ks in their purpled roan, Blue, silvered things that haunt the gra.s.sy chalk, Green Hairstreaks bright as green shoots on a stalk, And that dark prince, the oakwood haunting thing Dyed with blue burnish like the mallard's wing.

"He was a saint of G.o.d," the showman cried.

Meanwhile, within the town, from man to man The talk about the wondrous circus ran.

All were agreed, that nothing ever known Had thrilled so tense the marrow in their bone.

All were agreed, that sights so beautiful Made the Queen's court with all its soldiers dull, Made all the red-wrapped masts and papered strings Seem fruit of death, not lovely living things.

And some said loudly that though time were short, Men still might hire the circus for the Court.

And some, agreeing, sought the Mayor's hall, To press pet.i.tion for the show's recall.

But as they neared the hall, behold, there came A stranger to them dressed as though in flame; An old, thin, grinning glitterer, decked with green, With thready blood-streaks in his visage lean, And at his wrinkled eyes a look of mirth Not common among men who walk the earth; Yet from his pocket poked a flute of wood, And little birds were following him for food.

"Sirs," said King Cole (for it was he), "I know You seek the Mayor, but you need not so; I have this moment spoken with his grace.

He grants the circus warrant to take place Within the city, should the Prince see fit To watch such pastime; here is his permit.

I go this instant to the Prince to learn His wish herein: wait here till I return."

They waited while the old man pa.s.sed the sentry Beside the door, and vanished through the entry.

They thought, "This old man shining like New Spain, Must be the Prince's lordly chamberlain.

His cloth of gold so shone, it seemed to burn; Wait till he comes." They stayed for his return.

Meanwhile, above, the Prince stood still to bide The nightly mercy of the eventide, Brought nearer by each hour that chimed and ceased.

His head was weary with the city feast But newly risen from. He stood alone As heavy as the day's foundation stone.

The room he stood in was an ancient hall.

Portraits of long dead men were on the wall.

From the dull crimson of their robes there stared Pa.s.sionless eyes, long dead, that judged and glared.

Above them were the oaken corbels set, Of angels reaching hands that never met, Where in the spring the swallows came to build.

It was the meeting chamber of the Guild.

From where he stood, the Prince could see a yard Paved with old slabs and cobbles cracked and scarred Where weeds had pushed, and tiles and broken gla.s.s Had fallen and been trodden in the gra.s.s.

A gutter dripped upon it from the rain.

"It puts a crown of lead upon my brain To live this life of princes," thought the Prince.

"To be a king is to be like a quince, Bitter himself, yet flavour to the rest.

To be a cat among the hay were best; There in the upper darkness of the loft, With green eyes bright, soft-lying, purring soft, Hearing the rain without; not forced, as I, To lay foundation stones until I die, Or sign State-papers till my hand is sick.

The man who plaits straw crowns upon a rick Is happier in his crown than I the King.

And yet, this day, a very marvellous thing Came by me as I walked the chamber here.

Once in my childhood, in my seventh year, I saw them come, and now they have returned, Those strangers, riding upon cars that burned, Or seemed to burn, with gold, while music thrilled, Then beauty following till my heart was filled, And life seemed peopled from eternity.

They brought down Beauty and Wisdom from the sky Into the streets, those strangers; I could see Beauty and wisdom looking up at me As then, in childhood, as they pa.s.sed below.

Men would not let me know them long ago, Those strangers bringing joy. They will not now.

I am a prince with gold about my brow; Duty, not joy, is all a prince's share.

And yet, those strangers from I know not where, From glittering lands, from unknown cities far Beyond the sea-plunge of the evening star, Would give me life, which princedom cannot give.

They would be revelation: I should live.

I may not deal with wisdom, being a king."

There came a noise of someone entering; He turned his weary head to see who came.

It was King Cole, arrayed as though in flame, Like a white opal, glowing from within, He entered there in snowy cramoisin.

The Prince mistook him for a city lord, He turned to him and waited for his word.

"Sir," said King Cole, "I come to bring you news.

Sir, in the weary life that princes use There is scant time for any prince or king To taste delights that artists have and bring.

But here, to-night, no other duty calls, And circus artists are without the walls.

Will you not see them, sir?"

_The Prince:_

Who are these artists; do they paint or write?

_King Cole:_

No, but they serve the arts and love delight.

_The Prince:_

What can they do?

_King Cole:_

They know full many a rite That holds the watcher spell-bound, and they know Gay plays of ghosts and jokes of long ago; And beauty of bright speed their horses bring, Ridden barebacked at gallop round the ring By girls who stand upon the racing team.

Jugglers they have, of whom the children dream, Who pluck live rabbits from between their lips And balance marbles on their fingertips.

Will you not see them, sir? And then, they dance.

"Ay," said the Prince, "and thankful for the chance.

So thankful, that these bags of gold shall buy Leave for all comers to be glad as I.

And yet, I know not if the Court permits.

King's pleasures must be sifted through the wits Or want of wit of many a courtly brain.

I get the lees and chokings of the drain, Not the bright rippling that I perish for."

_King Cole:_

Sir, I will open the forbidden door, Which, opened, they will enter all in haste.