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And tip with feathers； orange and green；
A quivering death； in harlequin sheen。
High up； a fan of glancing steel
Was formed of claymores in a wheel。
Jewelled swords worn at kings' levees
Were suspended next midshipmen's dirks； and these
Elbowed stilettos come from Spain；
Chased with some splendid Hidalgo's name。
There were Samurai swords from old Japan；
And scimitars from Hindoostan；
While the blade of a Turkish yataghan
Made a waving streak of vitreous white
Upon the wall； in the firelight。
Foils with buttons broken or lost
Lay heaped on a chair； among them tossed
The boarding…pike of a privateer。
Against the chimney leaned a queer
Two…handed weapon； with edges dull
As though from hacking on a skull。
The rusted blood corroded it still。
My host took up a paper spill
From a heap which lay in an earthen bowl；
And lighted it at a burning coal。
At either end of the table； tall
Wax candles were placed； each in a small；
And slim； and burnished candlestick
Of pewter。 The old man lit each wick；
And the room leapt more obviously
Upon my mind； and I could see
What the flickering fire had hid from me。
Above the chimney's yawning throat；
Shoulder high； like the dark wainscote；
Was a mantelshelf of polished oak
Blackened with the pungent smoke
Of firelit nights； a Cromwell clock
Of tarnished brass stood like a rock
In the midst of a heaving； turbulent sea
Of every sort of cutlery。
There lay knives sharpened to any use；
The keenest lancet； and the obtuse
And blunted pruning bill…hook； blades
Of razors； scalpels； shears； cascades
Of penknives； with handles of mother…of…pearl；
And scythes； and sickles； and scissors； a whirl
Of points and edges； and underneath
Shot the gleam of a saw with bristling teeth。
My head grew dizzy； I seemed to hear
A battle…cry from somewhere near；
The clash of arms； and the squeal of balls；
And the echoless thud when a dead man falls。
A smoky cloud had veiled the room；
Shot through with lurid glares； the gloom
Pounded with shouts and dying groans；
With the drip of blood on cold； hard stones。
Sabres and lances in streaks of light
Gleamed through the smoke； and at my right
A creese； like a licking serpent's tongue；
Glittered an instant； while it stung。
Streams； and points； and lines of fire！
The livid steel； which man's desire
Had forged and welded； burned white and cold。
Every blade which man could mould；
Which could cut； or slash； or cleave； or rip；
Or pierce； or thrust； or carve； or strip；
Or gash； or chop； or puncture； or tear；
Or slice； or hack； they all were there。
Nerveless and shaking； round and round；
I stared at the walls and at the ground；
Till the room spun like a whipping top；
And a stern voice in my ear said； 〃Stop！
I sell no tools for murderers here。
Of what are you thinking！ Please clear
Your mind of such imaginings。
Sit down。 I will tell you of these things。〃
He pushed me into a great chair
Of russet leather； poked a flare
Of tumbling flame； with the old long sword；
Up the chimney； but said no word。
Slowly he walked to a distant shelf；
And brought back a crock of finest delf。
He rested a moment a blue…veined hand
Upon the cover； then cut a band
Of paper； pasted neatly round；
Opened and poured。 A sliding sound
Came from beneath his old white hands；
And I saw a little heap of sands；
Black and smooth。 What could they be：
〃Pepper；〃 I thought。 He looked at me。
〃What you see is poppy seed。
Lethean dreams for those in need。〃
He took up the grains with a gentle hand
And sifted them slowly like hour…glass sand。
On his old white finger the almandine
Shot out its rays； incarnadine。
〃Visions for those too tired to sleep。
These seeds cast a film over eyes which weep。
No single soul in the world could dwell；
Without these poppy…seeds I sell。〃
For a moment he played with the shining stuff；
Passing it through his fingers。 Enough
At last； he poured it back into
The china jar of Holland blue；
Which he carefully carried to its place。
Then； with a smile on his aged face；
He drew up a chair to the open space
'Twixt table and chimney。 〃Without preface；
Young man； I will say that what you see
Is not the puzzle you take it to be。〃
〃But surely； Sir； there is something strange
In a shop with goods at so wide a range
Each from the other； as swords and seeds。
Your neighbours must have greatly differing needs。〃
〃My neighbours；〃 he said； and he stroked his chin；
〃Live everywhere from here to Pekin。
But you are wrong； my sort of goods
Is but one thing in all its moods。〃
He took a shagreen letter case
From his pocket； and with charming grace
Offered me a printed card。
I read the legend； 〃Ephraim Bard。
Dealer in Words。〃 And that was all。
I stared at the letters； whimsical
Indeed； or was it merely a jest。
He answered my unasked request：
〃All books are either dreams or swords；
You can cut； or you can drug； with words。
My firm is a very ancient house；
The entries on my books would rouse
Your wonder； perhaps incredulity。
I inherited from an ancestry
Stretching remotely back and far；
This business； and my clients are
As were those of my grandfather's days；
Writers of books； and poems； and plays。
My swords are tempered for every speech；
For fencing wit； or to carve a breach
Through old abuses the world condones。
In another room are my grindstones and hones；
For whetting razors and putting a point
On daggers； sometimes I even anoint
The blades with a subtle poison； so
A twofold result may follow the blow。
These are purchased by men who feel
The need of stabbing society's heel；
Which egotism has brought them to think
Is set on their necks。 I have foils to pink
An adversary to quaint reply；
And I have customers who buy
Scalpels with which to dissect the brains
And hearts of men。 Ultramundanes
Even demand some finer kinds
To open their own souls and minds。
But the other half of my business deals
With visions and fancies。 Under seals；
Sorted； and placed in vessels here；
I keep the seeds of an atmosphere。
Each jar contains a different kind
Of poppy seed。 From farthest Ind
Come the purple flowers； opium filled；
From which the weirdest myths are distilled；
My orient porcelains contain them all。
Those Lowestoft pitchers against the wall
Hold a lighter kind of bright conceit；
And those old Saxe vases； out of the heat
On that lowest shelf beside the door；
Have a sort of Ideal； 〃couleur d'or〃。
Every castle of the air
Sleeps in the fine black grains； and there
Are seeds for every romance； or light
Whiff of a dream for a summer night。
I supply to every want and taste。〃
'Twas slowly said； in no great haste
He seemed to push his wares； but I
Dumfounded listened。 By and by
A log on the fire broke in two。
He looked up quickly； 〃Sir； and you？〃
I groped for something I should say；
Amazement held me numb。 〃To…day
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