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The King swore his end
 By kingly power sealed by his signet.
 For the blind harpist
 Played down the joyful cheers
 Into sorrowful tears.

 Lords sobbed like lads
 While he sang without words.
 The queen's soul ran out like a river
 Gushing through her eyes.
 Cats shivered.
 Groanings reached to the darkenning skies.

 He sang of all that is of men.
 He told of worlds and empires broken.
 He told of the silence of the grave
 Of both the cowards and the brave.

 The poets that knew the voice
 Bowed before him as to a disguised lord
 For a wit unveiled on the tomb of words.
 Nobles were drunk more from tears
 Than red wine.
 There were the Scots, Spaniards and Egyptians.
 There were some from Ethiopia and those from the Rhine.

 He bled on the harp.
 With dirge; a rapier mercilessly sharp.
 "...his music has offended the gods
 He must be fed to the maggots!
 Take him to the well of Durich
 Where the bones of the wizards of Endora must teach..."

 Unrepentent with adour for his king -
 He begged not for his life or nothing.
 His pleas went for his harp that wrought the divine spell.
 To go down with him into the well.
 For him, painless would be death's bitter stings.
 For he had wings with music.
 Cherubs taught him the mystries of the strings.
 Known by God a saint; by men a blind harpist.

 He sang in the well
 Till life faded like a misty tale.
 His harp played on
 Till dust became of the throne.

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