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Who would be a king That can sit in the sun and sing? Nay, I have a kingdom of mine own. A fallen oak-tree is my throne. Then, pluck the strings, and tell me true If Cæsar in his glory knew The worlds he lost in sun and dew. Who would be a queen That sees what my love hath seen?— The blood of little children shed To make one royal ruby red! Then tell me, music, why the great For quarreling trumpets abdicate This quick, this absolute estate. Nay, who would sing in heaven, Among the choral Seven That hears—as Love and I have heard, The whole sky listening to one bird? And where's the ruby, tell me where, Whose crimsons for one breath compare With this wild rose that all may share? |