Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XIV, Issue 4401, 10 February 1883, Page 1

Select Poetry.

AT THE KING'S GATE. A beggar sat at the king's gate, And sang of summer in the rain—A song with sounds reverberate Of wood and hill and plain, That rising bore a tender weight Of sweetness, strong and passionate ; A song with sigh of mountain pass, Ripple and rustle of deep grass, The whispering of wind-smote sheaves, Low lapping of long lily leaves, Bed morns and purple-mooned eves. The king was weary of his part, The king was tired of his crown \ He looked across the rainy land, | AcroßH the barren stretch of sand, Out to the rainy sea; He heard the wind beat loud and free J. The gilded casement, sullenly I Falling away with niißt and rain. " But oh ! it is a weary thingv To wear a crown and be a king, > -v - Unending war with care and pain j 0 for one golden hour and sweet, To serve the king with willing feet !'*.. But he would sleep, and from his heart The jewelled silken girdle loose, And give it room to turn and choose An easier measure for its beat. Into the gilded chamber crept A breath of summer, blown with rain And wild wet leaves against the pane. The Royal sleeper smiled and slept. " I thought that all things sweet were dead!" They heard him say, who came to wed The crown again to the king's head. —Harper's Monthly.