Even the shrewd and bitter, <br />Gnarled by the old world's greed, <br />Cherished the stranger softly <br />Seeing his utter need. <br />Shelter and patient hearing, <br />These were their gifts to him, <br />To the minstrel chanting, begging, <br />As the sunset-fire grew dim. <br />The rich said "you are welcome." <br />Yea, even the rich were good. <br />How strange that in their feasting <br />His songs were understood! <br />The doors of the poor were open, <br />The poor who had wandered too, <br />Who slept with never a roof-tree <br />Under the wind and dew. <br />The minds of the poor were open, <br />There dark mistrust was dead: <br />They loved his wizard stories, <br />They bought his rhymes with bread. <br /> <br />Those were his days of glory, <br />Of faith in his fellow-men. <br />Therefore to-day the singer <br />Turns beggar once again.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prologue-to-rhymes-to-be-traded-for-bread/
