Classic Poem

Recklessly and carelessly I wooed the golden maid,
With brave display of creamy plumes and gleam of burnished steel;
She laughed my love disdainfully, and mocked me unafraid: —
" Your sword should be a poplar rod, your silver shield a creel. "
She said she did not love the blade
That only sleepy peace portrayed.

I rode me to the border where the ford is ever red,
And there I left my broken plumes and all my bright array;
The trail between the cedars was guarded by their dead,
When I laughed across the shallows and turned and rode away.
She shuddered when I showed the blade: —
" There is no mercy there, " she said.

While striding through the courtyard a beggar whined at me;
I paused to tear my jewels away and drop them in his hand,
His blessings were so loud and long she could not help but see,
And my mercy and my bravery I offered for her hand.
" You cannot buy my love, " she said,
" With Peace, or Silver, or the Dead! "