These down-at-heel companions of mine whose beat
Is from dust to the door of the wineshop in Love Street
Are as beautiful as lilies which toil not, nor spin;
And, also as lilies, their hearts have no sin—
For the same reason. Work is not in the line of these fellows;
They are the knights of the Cup, the mighty at bending elbows.
Though easy-going, they are strictly disciplined in duty,
They shoot all that bear not the seal of the Beloved’s beauty.
Beware of this battalion which slew the great Fears,
For its weapons were tempered in the water of tears.
They are lilies that have earned their place in the fields
Because they never work nor pray for increased yields.
They are the knights of the Cup, the champions of Song;
They watch all through the night till the sun strikes the sky’s gong.
An energising celebration and rallying call.
These dropouts are also God’s disciplined warriors, even if they appear to be shabby layabouts. They, like the lilies of the field have no need of the accoutrements of society, they are the dust of desirelessness so they have the reaching for the cup as a reality. Because of their suffering and their acceptance of duty they are as strong as tempered steel. They are beyond fear. They are like the knights and troubadours of the chivalric age before the modern, the olden times of the next poem.
They are the band waiting to greet the rising sun of the new Avatar. The night here is the period of waiting for His manifestation.