III

I jested over-much in days of old, I looked on sorrow once and did not care, Now Love hath crowned my head with very gold, I will be worthy of the joy I wear.

There is not one a-hungered or a-cold Shall seek my door but that he too shall share Something of this vast happiness I hold; I will be worthy of the joy I wear.

For I was hungered and Love spread the feast, Cold — and He touched my heart and warmed it there, Yea, crowned me Queen — I neediest of His least, I will be worthy of the joy I wear.