There they hurry to office and shop;
Girls in navy, and green, and red,
Worn old men in their overalls,
Young men laughing. And not one notes
They are pixy led!
Here, by a dream of a handsome swain,
There by the lure of gold;
Here by a triumph in sport or love,
On a stake that is brave and bold.
The motors hoot, and the trams clang by,
And high on my balcony
I know that they follow the calling note
Of a piper they cannot see!
A feather of gold in his cap of green,
His feet leave no print behind.
But he beckons them on to a rainbow bridge
In the way of the driving wind!
Ladies in silk and furs and gems;
Lean charwomen in thread-bare capes;
Stout employer, pale unemployed,
Twittering tune for them all he makes!
For he is the colour of Hope and Joy--
Of all that they cannot reach.
He pipes of the gate to a promised land,
And he fashions his tune for each!
When the chimes are trembling against the hour
They pass. . . (And a dream goes, too.)
Crafty old men, and careless young--
For the piper pipes on a song unsung,
And he makes it all seem true!
First published in The Courier-Mail, 2 September 1933
