Classic Poem

The king he reigns on a throne of gold,
Fenced round by his ‘right divine;’
The baron he sits in his castle old,
Drinking his ripe red wine:
But below, below, in his ragged coat,
The beggar he tuneth a hungry note,
And the spinner is bound to his weary thread,
And the debtor lies down with an aching head.
So the world goes!
So the stream flows!
Yet there is a fellow, whom nobody knows,
Who maketh all free
Un land and sea,
And forceth the rich like the poor to flee!

The lady lies down in her warm white lawn,
And dreams of her pearled pride;
The milkmaid sings, to the wild-eyed dawn,
Sad songs on the cold hill-side:
And the bishop smiles, as on high he sits,
On the scholar who writes and starves by fits;
And the girl who her nightly needle plies,
Looks out for the summer of life,—and dies!
So the world goes!
So the stream flows!
Yet there is a fellow, whom nobody knows,
Who maketh all free
Un land and sea,
And forceth the rich like the poor to flee!