Voices running so far and near,
Footsteps seeking their goal with haste,
A few glances ever so chaste
And hair flowing from there to here,
Some hands are fast to the making
Others equally to taking,
A tongue is strong, a nose is sharp,
Some words are wrong, some try to warp,
Gold and silver rain down faster
Than water and reign true master,
Trophy hearts and loved jewels
Followed by old enamoured mules
Cross path with spirits marveling
At the fruit of their travelling,
And in the middle of this crowd
A pair of ears tries to listen
To all those musics which glisten
Even though their own is so loud.
The greatest loneliness is surrounded by a thousand voices that you know.
Here ‘loved’ is to be said ‘lo-vèd’, sort of a diaeresis but not exactly.