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THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET
WHERE 'S your kingdom, little king?
Where's the land you call your own,
Where's your palace, and your throne ? Fluttering lightly on the wing
Through the blossom-world of May,
Far to northward lies a land,
And the rowan-berries red
Back again, my little king !
Is your happy kingdom lost
To that rebel knave, Jack Frost?
Autumn is a rude disrober:
Far to southward lie the regions
Hold possession of the year,
Little boaster, vagrant king!
Neither north nor south is yours :
You've no kingdom that endures.
With your painted crown so slender,
Landless king ?
Never king by right divine