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, but ago in their bowers, O my soul! and faded flowers Seem to be falling from nights serene. The vessels that my treasures 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. |