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Der Kaiser of dis Faderland,
Und Gott on high all dings commands,
We two--ach! Don't you understand?
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Der Kaiser of dis Faderland,
Und Gott on high all dings commands,
We two--ach! Don't you understand?
Myself--und Gott.
As ourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.
As ourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
read more
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed--
All murdered; for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence, Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends. Subjected thus,
Many a crown
Covers bald foreheads.
Many a crown
Covers bald foreheads.
Though good faith should be banished from the rest of the world,
it should be found in the mouths read more
Though good faith should be banished from the rest of the world,
it should be found in the mouths of kings.
[Fr., Si la bonne foi etait bannie du reste du monde, il faudrait
qu'on la trouvat dans la bouche des rois.]
His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all read more
His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder.
The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious read more
The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on without
Good morrow to the sun.
Here lies our sovereign lord, the king,
Whose word no man relives on,
Who never said a read more
Here lies our sovereign lord, the king,
Whose word no man relives on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.
