Down by the stream of the waters
Came the king; and his face was sad,
Sad with a grief beyond belief,
For a bitter grief he had:
To be a king means sorrowing—
A king may not be glad.
Down by the stream of the waters
Came the king, and alone at night;
His robe was torn, a crown of thorn
Was on his brow so white:
They placed it there, who did not care
His eyes with tears were bright.
Down by the stream of the waters,
Where it flows through the valley of death,
He came, the king, all sorrowing;
A sob was in his breath:
They broke his heart, who stood apart—
The crowd that wondereth.
A VILLANELLE OF FATE
When the day of life is done,
And the tools are laid aside,
We shall slumber one by one.
Norns their threads of fate have spun
Lust and virtue, grace and pride—
When the day of life is done.
All that we have here begun
Must be scattered far and wide;
We shall slumber one by one.
Gone the folly and the fun,
Spilled the wine and spent the tide,
When the day of life is done.
By the marge of Acheron
Shall dear dreams be then denied,
When we slumber one by one?