A poor old king, with sorrow for my crown,

Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind —

For pity, my own tears have made me blind

That I might never see my children’s frown;

And, may be, madness, like a friend, has thrown

A folded fillet over my dark mind,

So that unkindly speech may sound for kind —

Albeit I know not. &mdas............