X: the Voodoo of a Master-Bard

We all saw the magic streams Flowing by the current of his face like Niger; He never heeded the whispers of the lads Nor noticed the murmurs of the lasses; Else those vain sweat-vapours Dared not brim the banks of his vacant eyes; Darest V.C., The song-speech is still on memory – It was facetious but void! The soul ate: the body ate not Those city incantations were exotic; Those gesticulatisms were as hypnotists Singing more than the bard himself; The song made a fantasy of the burdens Forgotten in a field of lollipop and lotus; From hysterics mourners almost danced!