Classic Poem

A PEASANT girl sat in the grass,
With just a peasant's eyes to see
The king's fair son when he should pass;—
From farthest Fairyland was he!

“He cannot love me—but he might,
If this or that had chanced to be.
It breaks my heart to know how slight
The things that hold him high from me.

“Had I been born in yonder tower,
With just a jewel for my hair,—
Not half so sweet as this one flower,—
He would have climbed to reach me there.

“Just for some fairness in my face,
Some ermine on a train of state,
Some poor, dead name that he could trace
To royal tombs—I were his mate!

“So brief the distance then between
Palace and hut, need I be sad?—
Almost he loves me. Ay, a queen
I were—if but a crown I had!

“Ah me, unhappy in my place!
What matter, since they are apart,
Whether one rose-leaf or all space
Divide divided heart and heart?”

. . . . It was a thousand years ago.
To-night Time tells the tale anew:
I am that peasant girl, I know;
And, sir, the king's fair son are you!