We watched him wander Through the little shop; Saw his slim fingers Touch a lyre-back chair With lingering affection; Saw the care With which he opened An old maple desk; Saw how his eyes took fire As he espied A slender table Done by Duncan Phyfe; Saw his hand tremble With quick eagerness At sight of an old chest Of German type. Then, as we watched him Handle fragile bits Of Staffordshire and Lowestoft And old Delft, Heard him cry out In sudden, hushed delight: Out of the mass of crockery and glass His eyes, that could discern The choice and rare, Had lighted on a pitcher standing there, A slender thing Of coppery luster-ware Banded with brilliant blue, Waiting serenely Till one came who knew! |