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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.