Too slow its shining sand.
“Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?”
The beggar turned, and pitying,
Replied, like one in dream, “Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king.”
Up rose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown, and threw it by.
“O man, thou must have known,” he said,
“A greater king than I.”
Through all the gates, unquestioned then,