When I Was King

By Henry Lawson

    The second time I lived on earth     Was several hundred years ago;     And, royal by my second birth,     I know as much as most men know.     I was a king who held the reins     As never modern monarch can;     I was a king, and I had brains,     And, what was more, I was a man!     Called to the throne in stormy times,     When things were at their very worst,     I had to fight, and not with rhymes,     My own self and my kindred first;     And after that my friends and foes,     And great abuses born of greed;     And when Id fairly conquered those,     I ruled the land a king indeed.     I found a deal of rottenness,     Such as in modern towns we find;     I camped my poor in palaces     And tents upon the plain behind.     I marked the hovels, dens and drums     In that fair city by the sea.     And burnt the miles of wretched slums     And built the homes as they should be.     I stripped the baubles from the State,     And on the land I spent the spoil;     I hunted off the sullen great,     And to the farmers gave the soil.     My people were their own police;     My courts were free to everyone.     My priests were to preach love and peace;     My Judges to see justice done.     Id studied men and studied kings,     No crawling cant would I allow;     I hated mean and paltry things,     As I can hate them even now.     A land of men I meant to see,     A strong and clean and noble race,     No subject dared kneel down to me,     But looked his king straight in the face     Had I not been a king in fact,     A king in council-hall and tent,     I might have let them crawl and act     The courtier to their hearts content;     But when I called on other kings,     And saw men kneel, I felt inclined     To gently tip the abject things     And kick them very hard behind.     My subjects were not slaves, I guess,     But though the women in one thing,     A question twas of healthy dress,     Would dare to argue with their king     (I had to give in there, I own,     Though none denied that I was strong),     Yet they would hear my telephone     If anything went very wrong.     I also had some poets bright,     Their songs were grand, I will allow,     They were, if I remember right,     About as bad as bards are now.     I had to give them best at last,     And let them booze and let them sing;     As it is now, so in the past,     Theyd small respect for gods or king.     I loved to wander through the streets,     I carried neither sword nor dirk,     And watch the building of my fleets,     And watch my artisans at work.     At times I would take off my coat     And show them how to do a thing,     Till someone, clucking in his throat,     Would stare and gasp, It is the king!     And I would say, Shut up, you fools!     Is it for this my towns I burn?     You dont know how to handle tools,     And by my faith youll have to learn!     I was a king, but what of that?     A king may warble in the spring     And carry eggs home in his hat,     Provided that he is a king.     I loved to stroll about the town     With chums at night, and talk of things,     And, though I chanced to wear the crown,     My friends, by intellect, were kings.     When I was doubtful, then I might     Discuss a matter quietly,     But when I felt that I was right     No power on earth could alter me!     And now and then it was no sin     Nor folly to relax a bit,     Id take my friends into an inn     And call for wine and pay for it.     And then of many things wed clack     With loosened tongues and visions clear,     I often heard behind my back     The whispered Peace, the king is here!     The women harped about a queen,     I knew they longed to have a court     And flaunt their feathers on the scene,     But hitherto Id held the fort.     My subjects wanted me, no doubt,     To give the throne a son and heir,     (There were some little kings about,     But that was neither here nor there).     Id no occasion for a wife,     A queen as yet was not my plan;     Id seen a lot of married life,     My sire had been a married man.     A son and heir be hanged! I said,     How dare you ask for such a thing,     You fight it out when I am dead     And let the best man be the king!     Your Majesty, we love you well!     A candid friend would say to me,     But there be tales that people tell     Unfitted to thy dignity,     My dignity be damned! Id say,     Bring me no womens chattering!     Ill be a man while yet I may,     When trouble comes Ill be a king!     Id kept my kingdom clean and strong     While other kingdoms were like ours,     I had no need to brook a wrong,     I feared not all the rotten Powers     I did not eat my heart out then,     Nor feebly fight in verse or prose     Id take five hundred thousand men     To argue matters with my foes!     It thrilled me through, the mighty tramp     Of armd men, the thundering cheer,     The pregnant whisper through the camp     At dead of night: The King is here!     And though we paid for victory     On some fields that were hard to hold,     The faith my soldiers had in me     Oft strengthened mine a hundredfold.     Id chat with soldiers by the fires     On rocky heights and river banks,     Id seek the brains that war requires,     And take my captains from the ranks.     And so, until the storm was by,     And came the peace just war can bring,     I bore me so that men might cry     With all their hearts, God Save the King.     When I was king the world was wide,     And I was strong and I was free.     I knew no hatred, knew no pride,     No envy and no treachery.     I feared no lies. I feared no truth,     Nor any storm that time might bring.     I had my love, I had my youth,     The world was mine when I was king.     Peace came at last, and strange is Fate,     The women begged just once alone     To see me robed in royal state     And seated on my fathers throne.     I thought, Shall I this boon deny?     And said, and twas a paltry thing:     Ill show the fools just once that I     Can look, as well as be, a king.     They dusted out the castle old,     And from the closet and the chest     They dug the jewels set in gold,     The crown and robes and all the rest.     They came with eyes like stars of night,     With diamonds set in raven hair,     They came with arms and bosoms white,     And, Oh my God! but one was fair!     They dressed me as the kings had been,     The ancient royal purple spread,     And one that was to be my queen,     She placed the circlet on my head.     They pressed their hearts and bowed to me,     They knelt with arms uplifted all.     I felt the rush of vanity,     The pride that goes before the fall.     And then the banquet and the wine     With Satans music and the glance     Of siren eyes. Those captains mine     Were reeling in the maddening dance:     A finger writing on the wall,     While girls sang as the angels sing,     A drunken boaster in the hall,     The fool that used to be a king.     I rose again, no matter how,     A woman, and a deeper fall,     I move amongst my people now     The most degraded of them all.     But, if in centuries to come,     I live once more and claim my own,     Ill see my subjects blind and dumb     Before they set me on a throne

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Poem Details

Language: English
Keywords: Public Domain
Source: Public Domain Collection
Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Analysis & Notes:
This poem presents a vivid narrative that delves deep into the notions of power, leadership, and humanism, with a keen focus on the practicality of kingship. It is written in a conversational tone, laden with a sense of nostalgia, pride, and, towards the end, regret. The poem's structure follows a consistent rhyme scheme, which guides the reader through the story in a rhythmic and engaging manner.

The protagonist, a king from centuries past, recounts his reign with a discerning eye, highlighting his efforts to be a king of the people, one who values justice, equality, and practicality over the ostentatious trappings of monarchy. He is portrayed as a progressive ruler, one who despised inequality, worked alongside his subjects, and sought to eradicate societal rot. This is a striking departure from the traditional image of kings as aloof and removed from the common populace.

Ironically, the king succumbs to the very vanity he initially rejected, revealing the human susceptibility to power and adulation. The poem ends on a note of self-disgust and regret, indicating the king's fall from grace and his subsequent degradation. This underscores the theme of the corrupting influence of power and the transient nature of earthly glory.

Prominent literary devices such as vivid imagery, personification, and metaphor are employed to bring the narrative to life. The king's progression from a man of the people to a 'drunken boaster' serves as a poignant metaphor for the corruptive influence of power. The poem ultimately delivers a powerful commentary on leadership and the human condition, wrapped in an engaging narrative.

Exploring Narrative Poetry

Narrative poetry is a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of the voices of a narrator and characters as well. Unlike lyric poetry, which focuses on emotions and thoughts, narrative poetry is dedicated to storytelling, weaving tales that captivate readers through plot and character development.


Narrative poems are unique in their ability to combine the depth of storytelling with the expressive qualities of poetry. Here are some defining characteristics:

  • Structured Plot: Narrative poems typically have a clear beginning, middle, and end, following a plot that might involve conflict, climax, and resolution, much like a short story or novel.
  • Character Development: Characters in narrative poems are often well-developed, with distinct voices and personalities that drive the story forward.
  • Descriptive Language: The language used in narrative poetry is vivid and descriptive, painting a clear picture of the scenes and events, while also conveying the emotions and atmosphere of the story.

From ancient epics like "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey" to more modern narrative poems, this form continues to engage readers by blending the art of storytelling with the beauty and rhythm of poetry.