Classic Poem

One morn across the meadows
A Knight full slowly went;
On one most dear, most lovely,
His anxious thoughts were bent.

“My golden ring so cherished!
E'en thou perchance canst tell—
Thou pledge which once she gave me—
If still she loves me well?”

But whilst he closely viewed it,
Aside it slipped, and see!
How fast, how far 'tis rolling
Adown the grassy lea!

With hands outstretched to seize it,
To where it stopped he flew;
But golden flowers confuse him,
And grasses bright with dew.

Hard by was perched a falcon
That watched with glistening eyes;
Down swooped he from the tree-top,
And seized the golden prize.

But whilst on lusty pinions
Aloft he bore his prey,
Fast came some brother-falcons
To snatch the prize away.

Of all, not one could gain it,
For down, fast down it slipped;
The knight beheld a ripple
As in the lake it dipped.

The nimble fishes darted
To catch the trinket bright;
But still the ring sank downward,
Far down, till hid from sight.

“O Ring! that in the meadow
'Mid flowers I vainly sought;
O Ring! for which the falcons
Aloft so vainly fought;

O Ring! that 'neath the waters
The fishes failed to gain;
My Ring! are these the tokens
I trust her faith in vain?”