Page:Florence Earle Coates Mine and Thine 1904 102.jpg

 And luscious fruit for summer needs;

My peacock throne burns like a gem,

And stars blaze in my diadem.

The mighty vie to honor me:

Kings at my table humbly sit,

And tributary satraps fret

When banished over-long from it.

What then have I to do with thoughts

That blanch the cheek and chill the blood?

Some wretched slave may quake and start,

Who hast'ning through Ghilan's lone wood,

Hears ravening jackals distant howl,—

But I? Nay, who doth not revere

The brazen doors my guards defend?

Who dares, unsummoned, enter here?