The Golden Touch Poem by Jan Struther

King Midas saw a buttercup
In a meadow blowing;
King Midas saw a marigold
In a garden growing;
King Midas saw a yellowhammer
On a bough swinging;
King Midas heard the golden voice
Of my true love singing.
'Though I have the golden touch,'
(Thus Midas spake),
'Yet gold such as this gold
Can I never make.'
And down upon his empty arms
He laid his grey head:
'The gods have made a mock of me,'
King Midas said.