Philip my King

LOOK at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip my king,
Round whom the enshadowing purple lies
Of babyhood's royal dignities :
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand
With love's invisible sceptre laden;
I am thine Esther to command
Till thou shalt find a queen-handmaiden,
Philip my king.

O the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip my king !
When some beautiful lips are suing,
And some gentle heart's bars undoing
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest love glorified. Rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair,
For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip my king.

Up from thy sweet mouth, — up to thy brow,
Philip my king!
The spirit that here lies sleeping now
May rise like a giant and make men bow
As to one heaven-chosen among his peers:
My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer,
Let me behold thee in future years ;
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip my king,

— A wreath not of gold, but palm! One day,
Philip my king,
Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way
Thorny and cruel and cold and grey:
Rebels within thee and foes without,
Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious —
Martyr, yet monarch : till angels shout
As thou sit'st at the feet of God victorious,
" Philip the king! "