"Barefooted came the beggar maid,"
So ran the minstrel's lay—
"Barefooted came the beggar maid
"Before the King Corpethua."
But, oh, her face was like a light,
Her hair was black as middle night,
And whispers ran from left to right—
"She is more beautiful than day!"

"In robe and crown the king stepped down,"
So ran the minstrel's lay—
"In robe and crown the king stepped down,
"To meet and greet her by the way."
And so the beggar maid became,
A Queen, but just a queen in name,
For, with her gypsie eyes aflame,
Her mirror heard her say—

I was a beggar maid, I used to lie
Silent and unafraid, beneath the sky,
And watch the stars—my little sisters, they,
I used to wake at dawning time of day
To plunge my body in some mountain stream—
I was a beggar maid!
Is this a dream,
This golden crown I wear upon my head?
This robe of royal purple and of red,
This rope of pearls, this ring, these silken shoon?

Not long ago the silver crescent moon
Was like a hand that beckoned me to stray,
And cities seemed vast centuries away;
And as my feet—swift feet, they were, and light—
Carried me through the wonder of the night,
I never thought of kings, or kingly power—
My life was all one splendid, singing hour!

I love my king—He raised me from the dust,
And looked at me with wonder, and with trust;
My hair hung, tangled, to the waist of me,
He brushed it from my eyes, that he might see
Deep into them!
He set me on his steed,
He never knew my name, or asked my creed,
He just believed in me—and told me so.
I love my king, I love him well, but, oh—
Once I wore poppies, red upon my brow,
(A crown seems very heavy to me, now,)
And once I wore, for all the world to see
A gown of rags. (Now, velvets stifle me!)
And once my hands (how soft they are!) were strong
To toil for me.
The days seem very long
While I must sit in state above the land—
I love my king... But does he understand?
I was a beggar maid, I used to lie
Silent and unafraid beneath the sky—
And, now that I am queen, my being longs
To hear, once more, the little slumber songs
Of night birds nesting in some forest tree—
I want to be myself, again, and free!
I want to climb the crest of some great hill,
And watch the sunset clouds, again, and thrill
Before the color of them! I would stand
Alone, once more, and see the wistful land
Take on the tint of twilight.
I would pray
My gypsie prayer, again, at close of day!

I love my king—for he has given me
Rare pearls, the treasure of a sighing sea,
And rubies, red as sunset clouds a-glow
And opals like the wistful winds that blow
At twilight-time.

But I would wear, instead,
Wild forest flowers, twined about my head—
And I would dance, barefooted, on the sod,
An innovation to my pagan God!

Am I a queen? What is this crown I wear?
I tear it from my smoothly plaited hair—
I lay my ring, my rope of pearls, aside;
Am I a queen—am I a monarch's bride?
The soul of me is still a gypsie thing—
I pull them off, the glowing gems, the ring....

I love my king, I love him well—but, oh,
GIVE ME MY RAGS, AGAIN, AND LET ME GO!