 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
78
CHARLES II. OF SPAIN TO APPROACHING DEATH.
(1700.)
Make way, my lords! for Death now once again
Waits on the palace stairs. He comes to lay
His finger on my brow. Make way! make way!
Ye whispering groups that scent an ending reign.
Waits on the palace stairs. He comes to lay
His finger on my brow. Make way! make way!
Ye whispering groups that scent an ending reign.
Death, if I make thee a grandee of Spain,
And give thee half my subjects, wilt thou stay
Behind the door a little, while I play
With life a moment longer? I would fain.
And give thee half my subjects, wilt thou stay
Behind the door a little, while I play
With life a moment longer? I would fain.
Oh, who shall turn the fatal shadow back
On Ahazz' sundial now? Who'll cure the king
When Death awaits him, motionless and black?
On Ahazz' sundial now? Who'll cure the king
When Death awaits him, motionless and black?
Upon the wall the inexorable thing
Creeps on and on, with horror in its track.
The king is dying. Bid the great bells ring.
Creeps on and on, with horror in its track.
The king is dying. Bid the great bells ring.
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