The royal money is made of honey
Sunny is the Queen’s face
For the counting house and parlor
Are one and the same place
And in the garden hanging golden clothes
Is the milkwhite Maid whose name is Rose
With so many birds singing by her hands
As the King silent at the window stands
While his Queen dreams on and smiles . . .
For black flies have become bees
And all dark weeds are flowers
And Afternoon is Endless
In the palace bowers