WHAT on earth is that in the mirror?
One day he sees a chained slave
the very next a crowned king
next day...who can tell the heart of love's creature?
It is his truelove who keeps his heart
and she who shows wisdom
putting by a little as seed-corn
where the grass is always greener
and no foot treads.
There out of sight a spring pure
and clear begins to bubble
this love beside his own truelove
flows down to the familiar world
possessing and transporting him.
There in the hints of quaint music from alien tongues,
in vague images encountered on burnished shields of foes.
This leaf and that alive with colour,
painted birds emerged from thin air,
swelled fields generating beasts so grand,
the laughing children leapt awhirl like imps.
A high bell recognized by our Quasimodo
and all that might quench his daily rage.