Poems By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge |
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| CLXXXIV. | CLXXXIVTHE KING |
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 | Poems |  |
CLXXXIV
THE KING
It was but the lightest word of the King,
When he was neither merry nor sad;
It was but a very little thing,
Yet it made his servant glad.
When he was neither merry nor sad;
It was but a very little thing,
Yet it made his servant glad.
174
He gave a look as it befell,
Between a smile and a smothered sigh.
Whether he meant it, who can tell?
But the man went out to die.
Between a smile and a smothered sigh.
Whether he meant it, who can tell?
But the man went out to die.
| Poems | |