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I am a beggar maiden,
I sleep beneath a thorn,
At night my tree is thick with stars,
I see the slender horn
Of the young moon,
I see the clean
Essential light of morn.
The King Cophetua and his Queen
Ride by disdainfully;
He glitters like a dragonfly,
A scornful mouth has she—
A curled red leaf—
Yet she was once
A beggar maid like me.
The spearmen ride before them.
My path no mortal knows;
A ruby smoulders on her brow,
My thicket yields a rose.
Dance, dusty feet!
I’m glad I’m not
The maid Cophetua chose.