Therefore he no more troubled the pool of silence.

The figure a poem makes

But put on mask and cloak,

Strung a guitar

And moved among the folk.

Dancing they cried,

‘Ah, how our sober islands

Are gay again, since this blind lyrical tramp

Invaded the Fair!’

Under the last dead lamp

When all the dancers and masks had gone inside

His cold stare

Returned to its true task, the interrogation of silence.

George Mackay Brown (1921-96), The Poet,