The Fool’s Song

Never, no never, listen too long,
To the chattering wind in the willows, the night
bird’s song.

’Tis sad in sooth to lie under the grass,
But none too gladsome to wake and grow cold
where life’s shadows pass.

Dumb the old Toll-Woman squats,
And, for every green copper battered and worn,
doles out Nevers and Nots.

I know a Blind Man, too,
Who with a sharp ear listens and listens the
whole world through.

Oh, sit we snug to our feast.
With platter and finger and spoon—and good
victuals at least.