Classic Poem

To a smithy there came a youthful knight,
For there had he ordered a broadsword bright;
But when in his hand the sword he weighed,
Too heavy he deemed the sturdy blade.

Then, stroking his beard, quoth the aged wight:
“The sword is neither too heavy nor light;
Too weak, methinks, is your arm, my son!
To-morrow shall all that you wish be done.”

“Not so, but now , by my word as a knight,
By mine own strength, not the flame's fierce might;”
So spake the stripling—his nerves he strings,
And high in the air the sword he flings.