The Jongleur

Last night I lay awake and heard the wind, That madman jongleur of the world of air, Making wild music: now he seemed to fare With harp and lute, so intimately twinned They were as one; now on a drum he dinned, Now on a tabor; now, with blow and blare Of sackbut and recorder, everywhere Shattered the night; then on a sudden thinned To bagpipe wailings as of maniac grief That whined itself to sleep. And then, meseemed, Out in the darkness, mediæval-dim, I saw him dancing, like an autumn leaf, In tattered tunic, while around him streamed His lute's wild ribbons 'thwart the moon's low rim.