The Wanderer

“I have come to find the truth” said the Wanderer
Gently picking a flower,
“Can you here me?” he said towards the window
But early yet was the hour.

So he sat on the grass with his pan-pipes
Soaking up the rising sun’s beams,
While his notes clambered up to her bed-side
And entered the world of her dreams.

She was flying over Mount Olympus
When she heard the sound of the lyre,
And she thought Apollo must be preparing
His chariots that beckon the fire.

But the closer she listened she realised
That the song was one she knew,
“I’ve dreamt this dream before” she said,
As his words came breaking through.

“Will you come only once to the window?
And reward my song with a prize?
For I was told I could ne’er know beauty
Till I seen the light in your eyes“.

His voice roused her into a rapture
His words pulled the strings in her head,
“Who are you and what is the tune you play?
Tell me first then I’ll come she said”.

So the Wanderer laid down his pan-pipes
While time stood still as he spake,
“I have no name but that which you call me
And I call my song awake.”

Then she rose from her bed with abandon
And ran towards the window sill,
But the second his eyes lay upon her
He vanished, and the air was still.

Nay, she ne’er again seen the Wanderer
Though she thought of him all the day long,
And she swore she would ne’er forget him
Or the sweet truthful sound of his song.