And he bends his ear to the voice anew
For the message that comes to him:
And his bronzed cheek glows as the words grow clear.
For they quicken his pulse and thrill,
And memories stir
To the whizz and whir
Of the wheels of the ten-head mill.
There’s a king to-night in his dungarees,
And he’s quaffing an old, old wine—
Oh, he doffs no cap and he bends no knees