THE FOEMAN'S LANCE
by Bernard Newman I sat and sighed in the great arm-chair And ran my fingers through my hair And cursed the pain which racked me through And wondered best what I could do And then the room began to fade Its contact lost in deepening shade It seemed I dozed in slumber deep And ne’er have I known so sweet a sleep All pain was gone, the very air Seemed charged with scent of fragrance rare I gazed as on a beauteous scene Where all was lovely, nothing mean. A stately castle, towering walls Which echoed loud the trumpet calls And then I saw a lady fair With sparkling eyes and wondrous hair She was a picture fair to see Her lovely form enchanted me She came to me all dressed in white And whispered, 'Come and be my knight Come and fight, throw down the glove To win my favour and my love.' I donned my armour then and there And vowed to win that maiden fair. 'To horse! To horse! ' the maiden cried 'With thy firm hand and lance beside Beware that gaunt Sir Mallory Who also swears that he loves me.' I spurred my horse, and galloped fast Across the lists, until at last I met my foeman face to face We made our tilt at furious pace His charger thundered from afar And then his lance struck me - Ah-h! I jumped from my seat with an agonised shout But the dentist just said, 'All right... it’s out!'
The end