Classic Poem

Dearest, whatever others see
Herein, it is no mystery
That I find all the world is good
Since you are all the world to me

You will not blame my boastful hours
It is not of such souls as yours
To spew the wrath of sorrow out
Upon the harmless grass and flowers

Do you fight on for all the press
Wise as you are you cannot guess
How I shall flaunt before God's Knights
The triumph of my own princess

Almost this day of the strange star
We know the bonfire old and far
Whence all the stars as sparks are blown
Piled up to warm us after war

There, where we spread our hands like wings
And tell good tales of conquered things
The tale that I will tell of you
Shall dash the cup of all the Kings

I swear it shall be mine alone
To tell your tale before the throne
To tell your tale beside the fire
Eternal, Here I tell my own.