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THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET
WHERE ’8 your kingdom, little king?
Where ’s the land you call your own,
Fluttering lightly on the wing
Through the blossom-world of May,
Whither lies your royal way?
Where ’s the realm that owns your sway,
Far to northward lies a land,
There 's a lake so clear and bright
And the rowan-berries red
Round it like a girdle spread.
Air that cheers the heart like wine,
Wait for me in Labrador
There I 'll build my dainty nest;
Back again, my little king!
Far to southward lie the regions
Hold possession of the year,
Fly by night and feed by day,
Full of merriment and sport:
Little boaster, vagrant king!
Wandering every fall and spring,
With your painted crown so slender,
And your talk of royal splendour
Never king by right divine