I AM that king of olden times
Whose city sleeps under the sea,
With its iron bells that heavily
Through too many springs rang their chimes. I seem to know the names of queens
Dead long, long ago in their bowers,
O my soul! And faded flowers
Seem to be falling from nights serene. The vessels that my treasure hold
Foundered I know not where nor when,
And I am the madman since then
Who seeks under water his gold. I long for my olden glory,
And for all my servile hordes
To roar my victory towards
The stars, and wave my pennons gory. With the moon shining into my eyes,
Calm, and with falchion drawn,
I wait for the morning to dawn
And trace my sign in the skies. While in my heart yet warm
The hope of conquest rages,
Have I heard, I the victor of ages,
Trumpets that sound through the storm? Where are the bells that heavily
Through too many springs rang their chimes?
I am that King of olden times
Whose city sleeps under the sea.