The chevaliers, the night falling dim,
The vast open space, the golden sand,
The sharp sword with firesome gleam,
The bow whose arrows left my hand,
The papers as many as they seem,
My pen itself that would never dry or land,
The light of every heart, the very gentle beam,
The wise of his time, the coarse of the band,
My beloved lady above who’d esteem,
The place where we were to be and stand,
They all knew I a faithful servant of Him.

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