THE POET AT COURT
HHE stands alone in the lordly hall—He, with the high, pale brow;But never a one at the festivalWas half so great, I trow.They kiss the hand, and they bend the knee,Slaves to an earthly king!But the heir of a loftier dynastyMay scorn that courtly ring.
HHE stands alone in the lordly hall—He, with the high, pale brow;But never a one at the festivalWas half so great, I trow.They kiss the hand, and they bend the knee,Slaves to an earthly king!But the heir of a loftier dynastyMay scorn that courtly ring.
HHE stands alone in the lordly hall—He, with the high, pale brow;But never a one at the festivalWas half so great, I trow.They kiss the hand, and they bend the knee,Slaves to an earthly king!But the heir of a loftier dynastyMay scorn that courtly ring.
H
HE stands alone in the lordly hall—He, with the high, pale brow;But never a one at the festivalWas half so great, I trow.They kiss the hand, and they bend the knee,Slaves to an earthly king!But the heir of a loftier dynastyMay scorn that courtly ring.
They press, with false and flattering words,Around the blood-bought throne;But the homage never yet won by swordsIs his—the Anointed One!His sway over every nationExtendeth from zone to zone;He reigns as a god o'er creation—The universe is his own.
They press, with false and flattering words,Around the blood-bought throne;But the homage never yet won by swordsIs his—the Anointed One!His sway over every nationExtendeth from zone to zone;He reigns as a god o'er creation—The universe is his own.
They press, with false and flattering words,Around the blood-bought throne;But the homage never yet won by swordsIs his—the Anointed One!His sway over every nationExtendeth from zone to zone;He reigns as a god o'er creation—The universe is his own.
They press, with false and flattering words,Around the blood-bought throne;But the homage never yet won by swordsIs his—the Anointed One!His sway over every nationExtendeth from zone to zone;He reigns as a god o'er creation—The universe is his own.
No star on his breast is beaming,But the light of his flashing eyeReveals, in its haughtier gleaming,The conscious majesty.For the Poet's crown is the godlike brow—Away with that golden thing!Your fealty was never yet due till now—Kneel to the God-made King!
No star on his breast is beaming,But the light of his flashing eyeReveals, in its haughtier gleaming,The conscious majesty.For the Poet's crown is the godlike brow—Away with that golden thing!Your fealty was never yet due till now—Kneel to the God-made King!
No star on his breast is beaming,But the light of his flashing eyeReveals, in its haughtier gleaming,The conscious majesty.For the Poet's crown is the godlike brow—Away with that golden thing!Your fealty was never yet due till now—Kneel to the God-made King!
No star on his breast is beaming,But the light of his flashing eyeReveals, in its haughtier gleaming,The conscious majesty.For the Poet's crown is the godlike brow—Away with that golden thing!Your fealty was never yet due till now—Kneel to the God-made King!