THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET WH I THERE'S your kingdom, little king? Fluttering lightly on the wing Through the blossom-world of May, Where's the realm that owns your sway, Far to northward lies a land, And the rowan-berries red There I'll build my dainty nest; II Back again, my little king! To that rebel knave, Jack Frost? Houseless, homeless in October, Whither now? Your plight is sober, Exiled king! Far to southward lie the regions Hold possession of the year, III Little boaster, vagrant king! Neither north nor south is yours: You've no kingdom that endures. Wandering every fall and spring, With your painted crown so slender, And your talk of royal splendour Must I call you a Pretender, Landless king? Never king by right divine There I'm happy as a king. |