The Kingdom by David McKee Wright

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I have a dream of a quiet State
   Where a goodly king would rule,
With a house of books at the palace gate
   And a little white-walled school.
There trees would grow before the wall
   And flowers about the trees;
And the queen would go in cap and shawl
   To tend her hens and bees.

A wheel would spin at an open door
   And a loom would click near by;
And a man of might at the threshing floor
   Would make the white chaff fly.
There would be sheep on the hills above
   And corn in the fields below;
And each would have room to seek and love
   The thing that was good to know.

The king would go out with a team to plough
   And a prince would harrow the soil;
And a statesman come with a thoughtful brow
   And a spade for his daily toil.
And one would draw a fiddle-bow
   And one would make a song;
And a man and a maid would softly go
   In the dusk and think no wrong.

The boys at their play would run and shout
   And the girls dance round in a ring;
And a father-thought would wrap them about
   And a mother-thought would sing
To their brave hearts always in shine or shade,
   Till the youngest child must know
How the dimpled fairy steps have made
   The path where their feet may go.

There would be pride in the walk of the king
   And pride in the craftsman's hand;
And all the wealth that the years could bring
   Would lie in the sweet of the land.
Fine green words would the tall trees say
   Below the moon and the sun;
And a man would bless the shining day
   For joy of his work begun.

Out of the treasure of written books
   And the magic of spoken song
Would the people gather their golden looks
   From a dream that was fine and long;
And laughter would blow like a merry wind
   To ruffle the thoughts of men;
For the breathing soil would be very kind
   And kinder the breathing pen.

And there would we sing God save the King
   And the royal race he bore,
While the good earth's tribute we loved to bring
   And lay at his palace door.
The word that he spoke would be our word,
   And his fear would be our fear;
And the land would whiten to one keen sword
   If the step of the foe drew near.

First published in The Bulletin, 18 July 1918

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on July 18, 2011 6:45 AM.

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