Your Don Quixote

Let me be your idyllic knight
Who ranges rough, unruly roads
That you may call me a worthy wight
For following the ancient codes.

Then I would from a rusted sheath
My battle-battered sword withdraw
And stand the hero on the heath –
Like Samson with an ass’s jaw.

And though my squire’s a foolish man,
My armor’s scuffed, my clothing’s mean,
My weapon’s blunt, my helmet’s a pan –
It’s granduer when you are my queen.

These all I’d wear, and worse. For you –
And all shall think myself insane –
I’d see a hundred men as two;
A sty with pigs, a rich domain.

I’d roar a challenge by your name
To any heathen hoard or drove
Of bleating sheep – they are the same –
Who mock the lady of my love.

I’d glare in death’s deriding eyes
And laugh aloud in merry scorn
At foes who keep with cackling cries
Some weak, unworthy oaths they’d sworn.

And with my horn, a tarnished toy,
I would defy each bragging star;
And, laughing, I’d the moon annoy,
By gloating o’er each well-won scar.

A fool – but let me be your knight
And walk the wild untempered hills,
Playing the fool for your delight
And tilting lances at the mills.