The people scattered gold-dust before my horse's feet;
But now I am a great king, the people hound my track
With poison in my wine-cup, and daggers at my back.
***
What do I know of cultured ways,
the gilt, the craft and the lie? I,
who was born in a naked land
and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile,
they fail when the broadswords sing;
Rush in and die, dogs—
I was a man before I was a king.