From twigs of visionary boughs
I gather berries red and rare.
I twine around my pallid brows
An insubstantial dryad's hair.
Such song I hear in mission-halls,
As Jason heard in violet seas,
While bodiless birds sing madrigals
In tumult round my head and knees;
The draper-shops that light their jets
To blink along the lanes of mire,
Weave splendours round the muddy sets
And tip my feet with points of fire.
For I pursue the Golden Fleece
Down slum-ways magical and cool;
And there I hear the flutes of peace,
Being a prophet and a fool.