The Master of the Marionettes 'Twas at the fair of Epinetz, And all the country-side was there. Each booth gave out its blatant strains, And grinning came the sheepish swains, Who greeted with approving stare The movements of the marionettes, While from his place well hid from sight The master laboured, faint and white. A villain dark, with cloak and plume, Through two acts of imbroglio, Pursued a maid of laughing mien Who played a ribboned tambourine And loved a gay incognito, By whom the villain met his doom, While Pierrot, in a comic part, Danced to conceal a breaking heart. 'Twas late. The snow fell thick and still The market place in silence lay. The master, tired and overwrought, For troupe and self a lodging sought. The inn was full. He went his way Across the heath; beyond the hill Dawn found him wrapped from head to feet In winter's snowy winding-sheet. And as he sank in deadly sleep, His spirit, like a floating haze, Wavered a moment o'er the snow, A valediction to bestow. And solemnly, with wistful gaze, The puppets bowed in reverence deep, Speeding with farewells and regrets The master of the Marionettes. Love's Counterfeit Old as mankind, yet with immortal youth: Unyielding, ardent, sinuous and bold, Alluring ever in the guise of truth. Where is the fire that warmed me yesterday? And where the flame that will to-morrow blaze To leave me shivering by its ashes gray? The wind that sweetly sings in ocean caves, Then dallies with the wallflowers on the tower May fan assassins and sweep over graves. What pleasure has a kiss that fever brings? Or one grown cold with satisfied desire? The love that on the senses fiercely plays, Comes like a wind and passes like a fire. The Most Precious Thing What do men rate at the highest in life? Diamonds that glow, The finest in water, In colour and form: Such as an eastern king's favourite wife Wears strung in a row, Or, as those that in slaughter, In sack or in storm Of a citadel's heights, Are torn from a Khalifah slain in the strife? No. Diamonds
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