IN gold and grey with fleering looks of sin

I watch them come; by two by three by four

Advancing slow with loutings they begin

Their woven measure widening from the door;

While music-men behind are straddling in

With flutes1 to brisk their feet across the floor

And jangled dulcimers and fiddles2 thin

That taunt3 the twirling antic through once more.

They pause and hushed to whispers steal away.

With cunning glances; silent go their shoon

On creakless stairs; but far away the dogs

Bark at some lonely farm: and haply they

Have clambered back into the dusky moon

That sinks beyond the marshes4 loud with frogs.