Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Helen FiskeJackson541 Coronation
A
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell one by one.
A beggar went, and laughed, “This brings
Me chance at last, to see if men
Fare better, being kings.”
Propping his face with listless hand,
Watching the hour-glass sifting down
Too slow its shining sand.
The beggar turned, and, pitying,
Replied like one in dream, “Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king.”
Shook off the crown and threw it by.
“O man, thou must have known,” he said,
“A greater king than I.”
Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, “Shall I know when
Before His throne I stand?”
Were wiping from the king’s hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
“This is his presence now.”
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked one by one.
The king?” The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
The king came not. They called him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father’s stead.