A POOR lost princess, weary and worn, <br />Came over the down by the wind-washed moor, <br />And the king looked out on her grace forlorn, <br />And he took her in at his palace door. <br /> <br /> <br />He made her queen, he gave her a crown, <br />Bidding her rest and be glad and gay <br />In his golden town, with a golden gown, <br />And a new gold lily every day. <br /> <br /> <br />But the crown is heavy, the gold gown gray, <br />And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows; <br />For he brings a gold lily every day, <br />But no king gathers the golden rose. <br /> <br /> <br />One came at last to the palace keep <br />By worlds of water and leagues of land, <br />Gray were his garments, his eyes were deep, <br />And he held the golden rose in his hand. <br /> <br /> <br />She left gold gown, gold town, gold crown, <br />And followed him straight to a world apart, <br />And he left her asleep on the wind-washed down, <br />With the golden rose on her quiet heart.<br /><br />Edith Nesbit<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-golden-rose/
