Poems (Jackson)/A Sunrise
A SUNRISE.
E slept on a bed of roses,I know—I, who am least of his subjects. The thingChanced thus.Chanced thus.Before it was time for the kingTo rise—just before—I saw a red glowStream out of his door, such as roses showAt heart, such a glow as no fire could bring.The solid gold of the whole eastern wingOf the palace seemed pale.Of the palace seemed pale.Then, floating lowAcross the threshold, great petals of pinkFell from the feet of the king, as he stood There, smiling, majestic, serene, and good.But was it a bed of roses?But was it a bed of roses?I thinkOf another monarch who, on the brinkOf death by fire, smiled, as a monarch should.