To These Words I Beheld No Tongue

Whether the throned Monarch weareth the crown
Which I know not whether to his belongeth
Doth he hence the sceptre sway?
Seasoneth he justice?

Daresay I he doth not
Will he then use his sceptre as a wand?
Where doth sit my awe? - Trieth me conjure
Perchance a spell?; a reptile, a sullied hound?
Is the gentle rain a quality of his?

I bethink this fro my thoughts; hitherto, about this
I beheld to these words no tongue; are the
Monarch's men his thralls or his servants?
Oft I waylay my tongue
Those of which are withal by my gnarled heart not heed'd
Or doth the throstle sing with more glee
At daybreak than than a twilight?

Brawl not my imp, nor my cherub; reserve my judgement
Crave not the sword when the bodkin fro ere thine is
That undiscover'd country; be that
Of calamity, be that of joy, be that of apathy
Tread not paths of new when those of old are
Far by an only single footstep; walk, be it
On the left, on the right - be it the one which
Straight forward leadeth; the one of correct
I have as until now not heed'd any signs of!