GAUNT, rueful knight, on raw-boned, shambling hack, Thy battered morion, shield and rusty spear, Jog ever down the road in strange career, Both tears and laughter following on thy track, Stout Sancho hard behind, whose leathern back Is curved in clownish sufferance, mutual cheer The quest beguiling as devoid of fear, Thou spurrest to rid the world of rogues, alack! Despite fantastic creed and addled pate, Of awkward arms and weight of creaking steel, Nobility is thine -- the high estate That arms knights errant for all human weal; How rare, La Mancha, grow such souls of late, -- Dear, foiled enthusiast, teach our hearts to feel! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AGAINST THEM WHO LAY UNCHASTITY TO THE SEX OF WOMAN by WILLIAM HABINGTON HOME'S A NEST by WILLIAM BARNES THE BURDEN OF A SIGH by LEVI BISHOP THE FOUR ZOAS: NIGHTS THE FIFTH AND SIXTH by WILLIAM BLAKE TO ANNE (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |