47 Through my heart's palace Thoughts unnumbered throng, And there, most quiet and, as a child, most wise, My throne do you sit and gracious. All day long great hopes gold-armoured, Jester fantasies and pilgrim dreams, And little beggar sighs bow to your benediction go their way, And the grave-jewelled courtier memories Worship and love and tend you all the day. But when I sleep, and all my thoughts go straying, When the high session of the day is ended, And darkness comes, then with the waning light By lilid maidens on your way attended, Proud from the wonted throne, superbly swaying, You, like a queen, pass out into the night.
