A Crowned Poet
A
Anne Reeve Aldrich
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IN thy coach of state
Pass, O King, along:
He no envy feels
To whom God giveth song.
Starving, still I smile,
Laugh at want and wrong:
He is fed and crowned
To whom God giveth song.
Better than all pomps
That to rank belong,—
One such dream as his
To whom God giveth song.
Let us greet, O King,
As we pass along:
He, too, is a king
To whom God giveth song.
Bu metin şairin özgün dilinde (el) değil, bir çeviridir.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
Bu şiiri puanla
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