I have a King, who does not speak –
So – wondering – thro′ the hou<s>⠿r⠿meek
I trudge the day away –
Half glad when it is night – and sleep –
If, haply, thro′ a dream, to peep
In parlors, shut by day.

And if I do – when morning comes –
It is as if a hundred drums
Did round my pillow roll,
And shouts fill all my childish sky,
And Bells keep saying ′Victory′
From steeples in my soul!

And if I dont – the little Bird
Within the Orchard, is not heard,
And I omit to pray
′Father, thy will be done′ today
For my will goes the other way,
And it were perjury!