The Dancing King

We pause and judge

upon the reigning queen

Who looks like a ghost

Upon the money most

people would agree

Oh the soulless dance

upon the English dew

Across the green fields

a procession grows

We are the out-of-time

people of the rose, sing

We are the out-of-time

people of the rose

The nightingale rejoices

The hour disapproves

The morning unrequited

The moon my heart did choose

Now the dancing king is the sun.