The World and the Poet
The knight flung in the mire his cloak,
To spare a queen's small feet;
We deal in velvets for rewards
When sovereigns walk the street.
The poet flung his cloak so that
A clown might pass dry-shod,
Forever stained his singing-robe
To save a village clod!
To spare a queen's small feet;
We deal in velvets for rewards
When sovereigns walk the street.
The poet flung his cloak so that
A clown might pass dry-shod,
Forever stained his singing-robe
To save a village clod!
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