David's Boyhood

Lying against the throne-room wall,

Let David play the harp for Saul.

So shall the melancholic brain

Forget the crown and its migraine,

The kingdom's mischief, and the way

The self disperses, day by day.

Though someday on Gilboa that tongue

Shall spell a prince's funeral song,

: And that enravished voice shall drive

Uriah from honey in the hive,

Though Absalom shall strangle in

The harpstrings eloquent and thin,

And the ex-psalmer turn in pain

A head that lies where Saul's has lain,

Let him compose, the gifted boy,

What manhood's hand cannot destroy,

What later folly or design

Shall never censor by a line.

Let David play for Saul, and sing

To ease the soul of David, King.