Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke

John Davidson (1857–1909)

Piper, Play!

NOW the furnaces are out,

And the aching anvils sleep;

Down the road the grimy rout

Tramples homeward twenty deep.

Piper, play! Piper, play!

Though we be o’erlaboured men

Ripe for rest, pipe your best!

Let us foot it once again.

Bridled looms delay their din;

All the humming wheels are spent;

Busy spindles cease to spin;

Warp and woof must rest content.

Piper, play! Piper, play!

For a little we are free!

Foot it, girls, and shake your curls,

Haggard creatures though we be!

Racked and soiled, the faded air

Freshens in our holiday;

Clouds and tides our respite share;

Breezes linger by the way.

Piper, rest! Piper, rest!

Now, a carol of the moon!

Piper, piper, play your best!

Melt the sun into your tune!

We are of the humblest grade;

Yet we dare to dance our fill:

Male and female were we made—

Fathers, mothers, lovers still!

Piper—softly; soft and low;

Pipe of love in mellow notes,

Till the tears begin to flow,

Till our hearts are in our throats.

Nameless as the stars of night

Far in galaxies unfurled,

Yet we wield unrivalled might,

Joints and hinges of the world!

Night and day! Night and day!

Sound the song the hours rehearse!

Work and play! Work and play!

The order of the universe!

Now the furnaces are out,

And the aching anvils sleep;

Down the road a merry rout

Dances homeward twenty deep.

Piper, play! Piper, play!

Wearied people though we be,

Ripe for rest, pipe your best!

For a little we are free!