GOLDEN-ROD.
Reading edition
O’er the dusty roadside bending With its wondrous weight of gold, Can it be the rod enchanted Midas used in days of old? Hush! perchance it is a princess In the sunlight nodding there, Spell-bound by the wicked fairy,— Sleepy little Golden-Hair! Nay, it is Belshazzar’s banquet, Where the drowsy monarch sups With his swarm of courtiers, drinking From the sacred, golden cups. See, I pluck his tiny kingdom— Long ago it was decreed— And divide it, dear, between us, You the Persian, I the Mede.
