Poems (Kennedy)/The Story Hour
THE STORY HOUR
FROM all the city's haunts the children come And crowd the quiet room, alert and still,Their interest keyed, their very smiles and tears Swayed ever at the story-teller's will.
She stands among them with her face upraised, Building anew the wonder-dreams of old.At her command there grow to life again The faded legends which the centuries fold.
And they who listen to her golden voice See from the shadows visions strange arise—Aladdin's palace glitters in the sun, Rome burns again before their startled eyes.
They watch the Wise Men's camels cross the sands Trailing the fadeless Star of Bethlehem;And once again by "many-towered Camelot" King Arthur's Knights ride in the lists for them.
They fight with Bruce, or hide with him in cave Where spider's gossamer draperies cling;Tell's arrow thrills them in its dizzy flight, With captive Richard they hear Blondel sing.
They learn the story of the Pleiades And shining constellations as they pass,With fairies that hold tryst, or dance with her Who wore the magic slippers made of glass.
From history's page or legendary lore The story-teller draws her varied theme,And straight there springs to vivid life once more Some long dead fact, some poet's golden dream;
For Old and New and Past and Present lend A silver thread, a glowing jeweled beadTo weave into the fabric of a tale That laughs with joy or teaches some high creed.