Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, “Shall I know when
Before his throne I stand?”
The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king’s hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
“This is his presence now.”
At the king’s gate, the crafty noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon