Classic Poem

The king sat on his throne.
Alone, alone.

Without, the sunlight fell
On hill and dell.

Beside the brooklet strayed
Lover and maid.

Each bird sang to his mate,
With spring elate.

The king was sad and cold,
Though clad in gold.

His heart sank in his breast,
With woe opprest.

His face was marred with scorn
Of all things born.

Within his golden halls
Stood countless thralls.

His frown compelled with awe,
His word was law.

Without, the seasons came
With snow and flame.

All life, with changes fleet
Of sad and sweet,

Sought union with the whole,
Its far-off goal.

He sat upon his throne,
Alone, alone.