So little by little fell the sun, From high noon unto sun-setting; And in that lapse of time the King, Though still he woke, yet none the less Was dreaming in his sleeplessness Of this and that which he had done Before this watch he had begun; Till, with a start, he looked at last About him, and all dreams were past; For now, though it was past twilight Without, within all grew as bright As when the noon-sun smote the wall, Though no lamp shone within the hall. Then rose the King upon his feet, And well-nigh heard his own heart beat, And grew all pale for hope and fear, As sound of footsteps caught his ear But soft, and as some fair lady, Going as gently as might be, Stopped now and then awhile, distraught By pleasant wanderings of sweet thought. Nigher the sound came, and more nigh, Until the King unwittingly Trembled, and felt his hair arise, But on the door still kept his eyes. That opened soon, and in the light There stepped alone a lady bright, And made straight toward him up the hall. In golden garments was she clad And round her waist a belt she had Of emeralds fair, and from her feet, That shod with gold the floor did meet, She held the raiment daintily, And on her golden head had she A rose-wreath round a pearl-wrought crown, Softly she walked with eyes cast down, Nor looked she any other than An earthly lady, though no man Has seen so fair a thing as she. So when her face the King could see Still more he trembled, and he thought, "Surely my wish is hither brought, And this will be a goodly day If for mine own I win this may." And therewithal she drew anear Until the trembling King could hear Her very breathing, and she raised Her head and on the King's face gazed With serious eyes, and stopping there, Swept from her shoulders her long hair, And let her gown fall on her feet, Then spoke in a clear voice and sweet: "Well hast thou watched, so now, O King, Be bold, and wish for some good thing; And yet, I counsel thee, be wise. Behold, spite of these lips and eyes, Hundreds of years old now am I And have seen joy and misery. And thou, who yet hast lived in bliss. I bid thee well consider this; Better it were that men should live As beasts, and take what earth can give, The air, the warm sun and the grass Until unto the earth they pass, And gain perchance nought worse than rest Than that not knowing what is best For sons of men, they needs must thirst For what shall make their lives accurst. "Therefore I bid thee now beware, Lest getting something seeming fair, Thou com'st in vain to long for more Or lest the thing thou wishest for Make thee unhappy till thou diest, Or lest with speedy death thou buyest A little hour of happiness Or lazy joy with sharp distress. "Alas, why say I this to thee, For now I see full certainly, That thou wilt ask for such a thing,