SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT
How agony’s unleavening yeast
Stirs Palamede. Anon they tire,
And follow an Egyptian priest
Who boasts him master of the fire
To draw down lightning, and invoke
The gods upon a sandal pyre,
And bring up devils in the smoke.
Sir Palamede is all alone,
Wrapped in his misery like a cloak,
Despairing now to charm the Unknown.
So arms and horse he takes again.
Sir Palamede hath overthrown
The jesters. Now the country men,
Stupidly staring, see at noon
Sir Palamede the Saracen
A-riding like an harvest moon
In silver arms, with glittering lance,
With pluméd helm, and wingéd shoon,
Athwart the admiring land of France.
55