The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley [i.e. J. B. L. Warren] |
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| VIII. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
THE KNIGHT IN THE WOOD |
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 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
THE KNIGHT IN THE WOOD
The thing itself was rough and crudely done,Cut in coarse stone, spitefully placed aside
As merest lumber, where the light was worst
On a back staircase. Overlooked it lay
In a great Roman palace crammed with art.
It had no number in the list of gems,
Weeded away long since, pushed out and banished,
Before insipid Guidos over-sweet
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And curly chirping angels spruce as birds.
And yet the motive of this thing ill-hewn
And hardly seen did touch me. O, indeed,
The skill-less hand that carved it had belonged
To a most yearning and bewildered brain:
There was such desolation in the work;
And through its utter failure the thing spoke
With more of human message, heart to heart,
Than all these faultless, smirking, skin-deep saints,
In artificial troubles picturesque,
And martyred sweetly, not one curl awry—
Listen; a clumsy knight, who rode alone
Upon a stumbling jade in a great wood
Belated. The poor beast with head low-bowed
Snuffing the treacherous ground. The rider leant
Forward to sound the marish with his lance.
You saw the place was deadly; that doomed pair,
The wretched rider and the hide-bound steed,
Feared to advance, feared to return—That's all!
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |