A Hollow Crown

Wherefore when I declare that I am king

Do all about me titter unashamed;

While all the bells about me, basal, ring-

And my throne stands alone as though unclaimed?

For Plantaganet crowns choirs of heav'n sing;

Of me, they surfeit, angels are ashamed.

Whatever mortal king this duty calls

Must know his time is brief; the castle falls.

Petitioners came they both before me

Bringing suits of treachery and grievance;

Who could know at judgement Bolingbroke, he

That stood so loyal through all contrivance

Would turn against his king, banished, and flee

To Northern shores and common alliance.

What once so noble at my royal side

Stands now athwart me, ever to abide.

But ever? How long may that yet be, when

Here I am gaoled, midst crushing penury.

No bog nor moor nor unremitting fen's

My prison, but stones of many a cold century.

Kings and fools both have rotted here- pretense

No more; I am of their kind, verily.

Hark- what steps approach this foul place of gloom

Some angel —devil— come to see my doom?

No, for angels do not tread where mortals

Deign to walk, and devils sneak behind us

Laughing from death's court, spying from His portals.

A man or men, must be come to serve us;

One small meal or message, sent by morals

To tend his king; still must some- some love us!

Some will heed our bugle, the sound of drums-

Come you, now, enter here! Who comes? Who comes?