Tower of Ivory/The Showman (A Portrait)

by Archibald MacLeish

THE SHOWMAN

(A Portrait)

A golden wind came running down the grass
And in and out the sun and shadow went
The stir of blowing dresses and the tint
Of scarf and leaf and laughter—ay, it was
The scene for her; she sat, self-mimicking,
The center of her central-whirling world,
And tuned her mood to mockery, and skirled
A showman's lilting flourish on the string.

Her words were swift as swallows in a gale—
Darted and flashed and poised, and then in flight
Essayed the Heavens, and then were vanished quite
In some perplexing Orcus—ran the scale
Of mirth from platypod to the eternal sprite—
But never left the wares she had for sale.