Poems (Scudder)/A Medieval Symphony

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A MEDIAEVAL SYMPHONY
Could I write a symphony I would soon re-tell the old Tale so quaintly and so well By the wandering jongleur told. Violins should weave the spell Of a blue and silver night. Then, the cymbals clashing light Seem the faintly tinkling mail Of the youthful prince who wide Through the forest seeks his bride, His "sweete friende" without avail. Hark, the horn winds plaintive, thin, Quick he comes—bold Aucassin.
Harps and viols thrillingly Upward weave and intertwine Like the rich wall-tracery Of that "bowere in the woodes," Leafy bough and branching vine Starred with rosy purple buds. Now, flute-tremors wildly sweet Seem those naked, tripping feet By whose whiteness dark with shame Showed the moon-drenched daisies all. Hear the wistful oboe call Low and clear the well loved name. Over grass all dewy wet Swift she comes—lithe Nicolette.
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