  THOU hast not gold? Why, this is gold All clustering round thy forehead white; And were it weighed, and were it told, I could not say its worth to-night! Thou hast not wit? Why, what is this Wherewith thou capturest many a wight, Who doth forget a tongue is his, As I well-nigh forgot to-night? Nor station? Well, ah, well! I own Thou hast no place assured thee quite; So now I raise thee to a throne; Begin thy reign, my Queen, to-night. Harriet McEwen Kimball. |
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