The Ruby-Crowned Kinglet by Henry van Dyke

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Where's your kingdom, little king?

Where the land you call your own, / Where your palace and your throne?

Fluttering lightly on the wing / Through the blossom-world of May, / Whither lies your royal way, / Little king?

Far to northward lies a land / Where the trees together stand / Closely as the blades of wheat / When the summer is complete.

Rolling like an ocean wide / Over vale and mountainside, / Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine --

All those mighty trees are mine.

There's a river flowing free --

All its waves belong to me.

There's a lake so clear and bright / Stars shine out of it all night; / Rowan-berries round it spread / Like a belt of coral red.

Never royal garden planned / Fair as my Canadian land!

There I build my summer nest, / There I reign and there I rest, / While from dawn to dark I sing, / Happy kingdom! Lucky king!

II

Back again, my little king!

Is your happy kingdom lost / To the rebel knave, Jack Frost?

Have you felt the snow-flakes sting?

Houseless, homeless in October, / Whither now? Your plight is sober, / Exiled king!

Far to southward lie the regions / Where my loyal flower-legions / Hold possession of the year, / Filling every month with cheer.

Christmas wakes the winter rose; / New Year daffodils unclose; / Yellow jasmine through the wood / Flows in February flood, / Dropping from the tallest trees / Golden streams that never freeze.

Thither now I take my flight / Down the pathway of the night, / Till I see the southern moon / Glisten on the broad lagoon, / Where the cypress' dusky green, / And the dark magnolia's sheen, / Weave a shelter round my home.

There the snow-storms never come; / There the bannered mosses gray / Like a curtain gently sway, / Hanging low on every side / Round the covert where I bide, / Till the March azalea glows, / Royal red and heavenly rose, / Through the Carolina glade / Where my winter home is made.

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