Kings' Palaces — Summary

Helena ColemanContemplative

I VISITED the palaces of kings, And marvelled at the storied treasure brought With vast expenditure of time and thought To play upon the heart's imaginings; All cunningly devised and priceless things — Fine sculptured forms, rare, costly gems that caught The sun, great canvases, and fabrics wrought With wondrous skill to give the fancy wings.

But, coming forth, there crowded round my way Such opulence of nature's tapestries, That I reflected how the humblest may Inherit all those lavish treasuries Beside which human art is children's play, And kings' possessions merest travesties.

Show the whole poemHide the poem

Learn Poems app

Try the Learn Poems app

Everything from the website trainer, and more: new exercises, voice recording and sharing, reminders, quick review.

The speaker describes stepping through the palaces of kings and being dazzled by the accumulated riches: jewels, sculptures, paintings, and finely woven fabrics, all made with enormous effort to stir the imagination. Yet once outside, she is met by the overwhelming beauty of the natural world — its colors, textures, and scenes laid out like tapestries available to everyone.

The feeling shifts from awe at human craftsmanship to a quiet, almost humbling realization. If even the poorest person can inherit the earth’s beauty for free, then royal collections seem like childish imitations by comparison. The mood moves from enclosed, museum-like admiration to open-air wonder, ending with a gentle critique of wealth and art as poor substitutes for nature.

Read also

More by Helena Coleman

All poems
ContemplativeHelena Coleman

At Sunset

From green to gold, from gold to amethyst, Transmuted by the sun's last lingering ray, The tranquil hills in dreaming silence lay, Wrought to a beauty eye could not resist;
ContemplativeHelena Coleman

Though Bound to Earth

Though we are bound to earth by many ties, And all along the roads whereby we came A thousand tongues to listening hearts proclaim Our kinship with the world that round us lies;
CheerfulHelena Coleman

In the Garden

The roses blushed a deeper red, The lilies looked more saintly, The sweet-alyssum hung its head, And smiled and frowned most quaintly;