Prelude

Let up the curtain.

The conjuror

Spangled and certain

Of hand will appear.

He recks not your ‘bravo,’

Nor counts your pence:

He plays to a shadow

Audience.

Cheers or hisses –

Whichever you will:

Nor for this is

Rehearsed his skill;

But for remembrance

Of dreams untrue,

Lest their loved semblance

Should vanish too.

A girl’s young beauty

That was not his –

These are his only

Properties.

Though he tricks your vision

By wizard stealth,

Alas, the magician

Can’t trick himself.

And if he is slow in

Sleight of hand,

It is through knowing

He may not command –

For all his patter

And ivory wand –

The love that a greater

Wizard has banned.