Classic Poem

Konig ist der Hirtenknabe

He's a king, this happy herd-boy,
And his throne's the grassy down;
And the sun above his forehead
Is his great and golden crown.

At his feet the sheep are lying,
Flattering courtiers, soft and sly;
And his cavaliers are cattle,
Stamping arrogantly by.

And the kids are his court-players;
Flutes of birds that hold carouse
Make a splendid chamber-music
With the gentle bells of cows.

And they ring and sing so sweetly,
And the soothing murmurs creep
From the waterfall and forest,
That the young king falls asleep.

Like a minister, his watch-dog,
Governs with an open ear —
And his loud, suspicious barking
Makes the very echoes fear.

Sleepily the young king mutters:
" Ah, to rule is hard and mean;
How I wish that I were home now
With my cozy little queen!

" On her dear and queenly bosom
Soft my regal head would lie;
And I'd find my ancient kingdom
Shining in each love-lit eye. "