Classic Poem

Certainly there was something to their stories:
Something had been at the fields, the pond was shaped
Like an enormous footprint; there were the usual signs,
Small herds, snapped trees.
I sat astride my horse in the autumn twilight,
Conscious of looking well; they crowded about me,
Jabbering, gesticulating, spilling out of straw-thatched huts.
Later, outside the tavern, I was shown
A number of women — all, it was said, deflowered.

Well, I set out at once: the approach was sinister,
Full of the usual obstacles; suddenly,
There was the castle. I was just about to knock
— Thunderously, of course — when the door opened.
I think I have never met a more charming person.
True, he was ugly, and — large ; but he had a manner.
You know how personality makes up for so much!
He gave me cocktails, followed by an excellent supper;
I felt ridiculously clumsy in my clanking armor.
Later, with coffee and brandy, I had the facts.
Land and cattle were his; the people were squatters.
He did not resent the trespassing and depredation,
But thought it a pity they felt so possessive.
He read me his poems, humbly took my suggestions,
Played some things of Chopin's rather well.
I left quite late, somewhat reluctantly,

And went back with the thought of punishing the villagers,
But they had already begun their singing and dancing;
My ears rang with it several miles beyond.
Later, " he had eaten six men " ; that very day
I had a little note from him — half invitation,
Half begging the name of a competent attorney.

My armor stands in the hall; I often think of my ancestors.
Was it different for them?
Nowadays, I observe, poetry is chiefly lyrical.