The three beggars

Har balkongdörren öppen och hösten sipprar in till mig och min dator. Med den sipprar ljudet av kyrkklockor. Tycker det är dags för lite poesi i den här bloggen. Här är en härlig höstdikt, som av en händelse innehåller en kyrka, av Walter de la Mare:

‘Twas autumn daybreak gold and wild,
While past St. Ann’s grey tower they shuffled,
Three beggars spied a fairy-child
In crimson mantle muffled.

The daybreak lighted up her face
All pink, and sharp, and emerald-eyed;
She looked on them a little space,
And shrill as hautboy cried:–

”O three tall footsore men of rags
Which walking this gold morn I see,
What will ye give me from your bags
For fairy kisses three?”

The first, that was a reddish man,
Out of his bundle takes a crust:
”La, by the tombstones of St. Ann,
There’s fee, if fee ye must!”

The second, that was a chestnut man,
Out of his bundle draws a bone:
”Lo, by the belfry of St. Ann,
And all my breakfast gone!”

The third, that was a yellow man,
Out of his bundle picks a groat,
”La, by the Angel of St. Ann,
And I must go without.”

That changeling, lean and icy-lipped,
Touched crust, and bone, and groat, and lo!
Beneath her finger taper-tipped
The magic all ran through.

Instead of crust a peacock pie,
Instead of bone sweet venison,
Instead of groat a white lily
With seven blooms thereon.

And each fair cup was deep with wine:
Such was the changeling’s charity,
The sweet feast was enough for nine,
But not too much for three.

O toothsome meat in jelly froze!
O tender haunch of elfin stag!
O rich the odour that arose!
O plump with scraps each bag!

There, in the daybreak gold and wild,
Each merry-hearted beggar man
Drank deep unto the fairy child,
And blessed the good St. Ann.



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