The fluting led them through the western gate, From many a tossing torch their faces glowed, Bright-eyed and ruddy-featured and elate; They sang and scattered flowers upon the road, Still in their hair the starry blossoms snowed; They saw ahead the green-striped tent, their mark, Lit now and busy in the gathering dark. There at the vans and in the green-striped tent The circus artists growled their discontent. Close to the gate a lighted van there was; The showman's wife thrust back its window glass. And leaned her head without to see who came To buy a ticket for the evening's game. A roll of tickets and a plate of pence (For change) lay by her as she leaned from thence. She heard the crowd afar, but in her thought She said: "That's in the city; it is nought. They glorify the Queen." Though sick at heart She wore her spangles for her evening's part, To dance upon the barebacked horse and sing. Green velvet was her dress, with tinselling. Her sad, worn face had all the nobleness That lovely spirits gather from distress. "No one to-night," she thought, "no one to-night." Within the tent, a flare gave blowing light. There, in their scarlet cart, the bandsmen tuned Bugles that whinnied, flageolets that crooned And strings that whined and grunted. Near the band Piebald and magpie horses stood at hand Nosing at grass beneath the green-striped dome While men caressed them with the curry-comb. The clowns, with whited, raddled faces, heaped Old horse cloths round them to the chins; they peeped Above the rugs; their cigarette ends' light Showing black eyes, and scarlet smears and white. They watched the empty benches, and the wry Green curtain door which no one entered by. Two little children entered and sat still With bright wide-opened eyes that stared their fill, And red lips round in wonder smeared with tints From hands and handkerchiefs and peppermints. A farm lad entered. That was all the house. "Strike up the band to give the folk a rouse," The showman said, "They must be all outside." He said it boldly, though he knew he lied. Sad as a funeral march for pleasure gone The band lamented out, "He's got them on." Then paused, as usual, for the crowd to come. Nobody came, though from without a hum Of instruments and singing slowly rose. "Free feast, with fireworks and public shows," The bandsmen growled, "An empty house again. Two children and a ploughboy and the rain. And then a night march through the mud," they said.