I sat beside them sole princess in my exalted place, 40
My ladies and my gentlemen stood by me on the dais: 
A mirror showed me I look old and haggard in the face;

It showed me that my ladies all are fair to gaze upon,
Plump, plenteous-haired, to every one love’s secret lore is known,
They laugh by day, they sleep by night; ah me, what is a throne?

The singing men and women sang that night as usual,
The dancers danced in pairs and sets, but music had a fall,
A melancholy windy fall as at a funeral.

Amid the toss of torches to my chamber back we swept;
My ladies loosed my golden chain; meantime I could have wept 50
To think of some in galling chains whether they waked or slept.

I took my bath of scented milk, delicately waited on,
They burned sweet things for my delight, cedar and cinnamon,
They lit my shaded silver lamp, and left me there alone.

A day went by, a week went by.  One day I heard it said: 
’Men are clamouring, women, children, clamouring to be fed;
Men like famished dogs are howling in the streets for bread.’

So two whispered by my door, not thinking I could hear,
Vulgar naked truth, ungarnished for a royal ear;
Fit for cooping in the background, not to stalk so near. 60

But I strained my utmost sense to catch this truth, and mark: 
‘There are families out grazing like cattle in the park.’ 
‘A pair of peasants must be saved even if we build an ark.’

A merry jest, a merry laugh, each strolled upon his way;
One was my page, a lad I reared and bore with day by day;
One was my youngest maid as sweet and white as cream in May.

Other footsteps followed softly with a weightier tramp;
Voices said:  ’Picked soldiers have been summoned from the camp
To quell these base-born ruffians who make free to howl and stamp.’

‘Howl and stamp?’ one answered:  ’They made free to hurl a stone 70
At the minister’s state coach, well aimed and stoutly thrown.’ 
‘There’s work then for the soldiers, for this rank crop must be mown.’

’One I saw, a poor old fool with ashes on his head,
Whimpering because a girl had snatched his crust of bread: 
Then he dropped; when some one raised him, it turned out he was dead.’

‘After us the deluge,’ was retorted with a laugh: 
‘If bread’s the staff of life, they must walk without a staff.’ 
‘While I’ve a loaf they’re welcome to my blessing and the chaff.’

These passed.  The king:  stand up.  Said my father with a smile: 
’Daughter mine, your mother comes to sit with you awhile, 80
She’s sad to-day, and who but you her sadness can beguile?’

He too left me.  Shall I touch my harp now while I wait,—­
(I hear them doubling guard below before our palace gate—­)
Or shall I work the last gold stitch into my veil of state;