I love my king -- He raised me from the dust,
And looked at me with wonder, and with trust;
My hair hung, tangled, to the waist of me,
He brushed it from my eyes, that he might see
Deep into them!
He set me on his steed,
He never knew my name, or asked my creed,
He just believed in me -- and told me so.
I love my king, I love him well, but, oh --
Once I wore poppies, red upon my brow,
(A crown seems very heavy to me, now,)
And once I wore, for all the world to see
A gown of rags. (Now, velvets stifle me!)
And once my hands (how soft they are!) were strong
To toil for me.
The days seem very long
While I must sit in state above the land --
I love my king . . . But does he understand?
I was a beggar maid, I used to lie
Silent and unafraid beneath the sky --
And, now that I am queen, my being longs
To hear, once more, the little slumber songs
Of night birds nesting in some forest tree --
I want to be myself, again, and free!
I want to climb the crest of some great hill,
And watch the sunset clouds, again, and thrill
Before the color of them! I would stand
Alone, once more, and see the wistful land
Take on the tint of twilight.