Poems (Jackson)/Thought
For works with similar titles, see Thought.
MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I?Thou dalliest outside the palace gateTill on thine idle armor lie the lateAnd heavy dews: the morn's bright, scornful eyeReminds thee; then, in subtle mockery,Thou smilest at the window where I wait,Who bade thee ride for life. In empty stateMy days go on, while false hours prophesyThy quick return; at last, in sad despair,I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air;When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet,And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at my feet.Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to buy,I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I.
THOUGHT.
MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I?Thou dalliest outside the palace gateTill on thine idle armor lie the lateAnd heavy dews: the morn's bright, scornful eyeReminds thee; then, in subtle mockery,Thou smilest at the window where I wait,Who bade thee ride for life. In empty stateMy days go on, while false hours prophesyThy quick return; at last, in sad despair,I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air;When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet,And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at my feet.Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to buy,I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I.