The Knight
The knight doth mount his weary steed
With broken lance and rusty blade.
Seeking one who must be freed
And hasting fly unto her aid.
Tho' battered sore may be his helm
And dusty be his raiment,
No foe can ever overwhelm,
Nor e’er ask he for payment.
He seeks alone to right the wrongs
Committed ever on the weak.
Pursues not glory, needs no songs,
Never fleeting fame doth seek.
Arriving like a wandering wraith,
So likewise now he questing goes,
In Dulcinea ’bides his faith,
Upon her all his heart bestows.
So though his path is ever long,
Neath burning sun or frosty night,
Upon his lips doth dwell the song
Of hope to stand up for the right.
And dusty be his raiment,
No foe can ever overwhelm,
Nor e’er ask he for payment.
He seeks alone to right the wrongs
Committed ever on the weak.
Pursues not glory, needs no songs,
Never fleeting fame doth seek.
Arriving like a wandering wraith,
So likewise now he questing goes,
In Dulcinea ’bides his faith,
Upon her all his heart bestows.
So though his path is ever long,
Neath burning sun or frosty night,
Upon his lips doth dwell the song
Of hope to stand up for the right.
