Whether the thronéd Monarch weareth the crown,
Which I know not whether to his belongeth;
Doth he hence the sceptre sway?
Seasoneth he justice? —
Daresay I he doth not,
Will he then use his sceptre as a wand? —
Where doth sit my awe? — Trieth he me conjure;
Perchance a spell?; a reptile, a sullied hound? —
Is the gentle rain a quality of his? —
I bethink this fro my thoughts; hitherto, about this,
I beheld to these words no tongue;
Are the Monarch's men his thralls or his servants? —
Oft I waylay my tongue —
Those of which are withal by my gnarléd heart not heed'd;
Or doth the throstle sing with more glee
At daybreak than at twilight? —
Brawl not my imp, nor my cherub;
Reserve my judgement —
Crave not the sword when the bodkin fro ere thine is;
That undiscover'd country;
Be that of calamity, be that of joy, be that of apathy;
Tread not paths of new when those of old are
Far by an only single footstep; walk, be it
On the left, on the right — be it the one which
Straight forward leadeth; the one of correct
I have as until now not heed'd any signs of!