An Outland Piper

I heard strange pipes when I was young,
Piping songs of an outland tongue.
I heard, and was agape to see
How like that piper was to me,
His brow, his gesture, even his dress
Perfections of my awkwardness,
And wandering forms of early wonder
Shaped into him, no more asunder...

Playing a tune to the rabble's whim
He marched away; I followed him.
For something in his rolling eye
Plucked at my senses mightily,
And something in that outland tongue
Drew me away, for I was young.
Then over the town he piping went;
Streets tipped, I thought, in ravishment;
Roofs clapped, and windows blazed to see
That alien piper, so like me...

I followed till the pipes trilled sweet,
At the winding end of an unknown street,
And none of all the mob was nigh,
Nor door nor window cracked an eye
And - "Follow me no more," he said,
"Though I be of thy father bred,
And though I speak from thine own blood,
Yet I am not of mortal blood;

And follow not my piping sweet
To find the walking world a cheat;
And cherish not my outland grace,
Nor pride in likeness to my face,
For children of an earthly mother
Cry out upon their demon brother."
His smile flashed out a sudden dawn,
In the dark stree, -then he was gone;
And through the town where he had sung
The futile ravelled silence hung.

I heard, but I could not forget,
And through the world I follow yet,
And many a time I pause and sigh,
Thinking I hear his melody;
And peer at all men's charactery
to find that image so like me;
And wonder that his piping sweet
Left me to know a world's deceit,
Left me to seek an unknown kin
Through all the streets I travel in.

-Donald Davidson