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I have a King, who does not speak
So—wondering—thro' the hours meek
I trudge the day away
Half glad when it is night, and sleep
If, haply, thro' a dream, to peep
In parlors, shut by day

And if I do—when morning comes
It is as if a hundred drums
Did round my pillow roll
And shouts fill all my Childish sky
And Bells keep saying "Victory"
From steeples in my soul!

And if I don't—the little Bird
Within the Orchard, is not heard
And I omit to pray
"Father, thy will be done" today
For my will goes the other way
And it were perjury!

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