SHE came with garments scant and poor and thin,
And white feet gleaming bare;
With pallid smiles where April tears had been,
And snowflakes on her hair.
Oh, never — Winter thought — such gentle look
In all the land was seen!
From his gray locks the diadem he took
And crowned her as his queen.
And now, in silken robes and gems arrayed,
Fair Spring reigns in his stead.
Upon his throne she sits, the beggar maid —
“Cophetua” is dead.