Classic Poem

My trusty lance is in its rest,
My sword is at my side,
And bound upon a holy quest,
I ride and ride and ride.

Oh, brave it is to fight and win,
And brave to fight and fall,
And he who once has dared begin
Must dare to do it all.

There's one that rides at my right hand,
He wears a kingly crown —
He holds an hour-glass, and the sand
Runs down and down and down.

And knee to knee we ride apace:
I feel his icy breath:
And when he looks me in the face
I know his name is Death.

So on I ride from land to land,
To seek until I find,
With Death himself at my right hand,
And worse than Death behind.

I have no home: I seek no rest:
Her spirit is my guide:
And loyal to her high behest
I ride and ride and ride.