I was born idle, and meant for summer days,
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Where the sea is ever blue
And the palm for ever sways,—
O how I hate winter and all his ways!
I was born idle to sit upon a throne,
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With a queen for ever You,
Like a lily scarcely blown,
With your eyes carved out of a big moonstone.
I was born idle to dream my life away,
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With a young moon ever new,
And the world for ever May,
And the sound of streams in my ears alway.
I was born idle to lie at last in state,
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While the royal trumpets blew
O'er a royal head too great
For a world so small—and so second-rate.