BEHIND thy pasteboard, on thy battered hack, Thy lean cheek striped with plaster to and fro, Thy long spear levelled at the unseen foe, And doubtful Sancho trudging at thy back, Thou wert a figure strange enough, good lack! To make wiseacredom, both high and low, Rub purblind eyes, and (having watched thee go) Dispatch its Dogberrys upon thy track: Alas! poor Knight! Alas! poor soul possest! Yet would to-day when Courtesy grows chill, And life's fine loyalties are turned to jest, Some fire of thine might burn within us still! Ah, would but one might lay his lance in rest, And charge in earnest ... were it but a mill! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNGUARDED GATES by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH BATTLE SONG by EBENEZER ELLIOTT IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE by RUDYARD KIPLING THE ROSE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 32. THERE'S NO DEFENCE AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES |