Classic Poem

Is yonder sunlight sun indeed,
At turn of the green glade?
Or glitters there an armoured steed
In covert, and a blade?
I care not, save to make more speed:
I cannot be afraid:
Knight of the North! who no man fears,
Riding with a plump of spears.

Above me, heartening winds at play:
Beneath me, the good ground:
There, lordly eagles go their way,
To mountain pastures bound:
While stars yet fade upon the day,
I ride the wild land round:
Knight of the North! who no man fears,
Though the air be bright with spears.

Rare in my nostrils, the full earth
Pours perfume of the wood:
Over the hills, nigh mad with mirth,
Sweep storms to fire my blood:
Oh! right true Northern is my birth,
Where but to breathe is good:
Knight of the North! who no man fears,
Little needing, save stout spears.

But when the Chauntry, dark and cold,
Shall hide me among dust:
When lowly priests unmoved behold
Mine armour dim with rust:
Oh! then, with foray as of old,
To feed a living lust!
Not to be one, whom no man fears,
Dead! and dull, his flashing spears.