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THE KING'S TOUCH
"The King's touch—there is magic in it!
When the early dawn in the east is red,
And I hear the song of the lark and linnet,
I will rise like a wraith from my sleepless bed.

"Then wrapped in a cloak of hodden gray
I will steal like a shadow over the hills,
And down where the pendulous willows sway,
And the rich, ripe grape its scent distils—

"Till I reach the edge of the forest wide;
And there will I bide, where the still shades are,
Till the King and his huntsmen forth do ride,
And the sweet wild horn rings out afar.

"I will wait and listen until I see
The nodding plumes of the merry men
And the glancing pennants floating free,
A gleam of light in the lonely glen.

"Then low in the dust at his royal feet
I will kneel for the touch of his healing hand;
Perchance he will give ere I entreat,
Before I cry he may understand!

"The King's proud Leech will be there I trow—
A wise old man with a reverent air—
And the laughing courtiers, row on row;
Yet not unto them will I make my prayer.