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And now, indeed, that he is dead,
The nations have they no more dread?
Lo, is not this the King they swore
To worship evermore?
Will no one Love of his come near
And kiss him where he lieth there,
And warm his freezing lips again?
—Is this then all his reign?
He must have longed ere this to rise
And be again in all men's eyes;
For the place where he dwelleth now
Lonely it is I trow:
But, just to stand in his own hall
And feel the warmth there once for all—
O would he not give crowns of gold?
For the place is so cold!
But over him a tomb doth stand,
The costliest in all the land;
And of the glory that he bore
It telleth evermore.—
