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DETHRONED, RETHRONED
And climbing a near stairway steep,
There, O the wonder! poised clate,
With eyes that danced, and yet were deep
With secrets that they scarce could keep,
Alone, aloft, she sate;
And with serene contentment view’d
Poor rival and fond multitude!―
—She sees her gold and purple gay
Its undull’d flutter round her make;
She hears, within, her music play
Unmarr’d—and her whole soul can say,
“It is but a mistake!
Tho’ at her feet my pennies fall,
I am the right one, after all!”
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