My father is happy or we should be poor. His gateway is wide, and the folk of the moor Come singing so gaily right up to the door. We live in a castle that's dingy and old; The casements are broken, the corridors cold, The larder is empty, the cook is a scold. But father can dance, and his singing is loud. From meadow and highway there's always a crowd That gathers to hear him, and this makes him proud. He roars out a song in a voice that is sweet- Of grandeur that's gone, rare viands to eat, And treasure that used to be laid at his feet. He picks up his robe, faded, wrinkled and torn, Though banded in ermine, moth-eaten and worn, And held at the throat by a twisted old thorn. He leaps in the air with a rickety grace, And a kingly old smile illumines his face, While he fondles his beard and stares off into space. The villagers laugh, then look quickly away, And some of them kneel in the orchard to pray. I often hear whispers: "The old king is fey." But after they're gone, we shall find, if you please, White loaves and a pigeon, and honey and cheese, And wine that we drink while I sit on his knees. And, while he sups, he will feed me and tell Of Mother, whom men used to call "The Gazelle," And of glorious times before the curse fell. And then he will fall, half-asleep, to the floor; The rafters will echo his quivering snore... . I go to find cook through the slack oaken door. My father is happy or we should be poor. His gateway is wide, and the folk of the moor Come singing so gaily right up to the door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RETIRED CAT by WILLIAM COWPER TO HESTER [SAVORY] by CHARLES LAMB THREE SONNETS WRITTEN IN MID-CHANNEL: 1 by ALFRED AUSTIN THE DEAD OF THE WILDERNESS by CHAIM NACHMAN BIALIK ON THE VIRGINITY OF THE VIRGIN MARY AND JOHANNA SOUTHCOTT by WILLIAM BLAKE BLEUE MAISON by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE HUMMING-BIRD by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 18. ELEGIAC VERSE: THE FIRST EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |