Classic Poem

Give my hand a sword to hold,
Bring a helmet wrought of gold,
A cuirass
Where the sun may see his rays
Flame and pass,
As he treads the cloudy ways.

Place a weapon in my hand
That will welcome and withstand
Many blows,
In my helmet fix a white
Snowy rose,
For I battle for the right.

On my breastplate let a star
That will glitter from afar
Flash and gleam;
For the night with all its wrong
Like a dream
Shall be scattered at my song.

Every girl in London needs
One who proves him by his deeds
Beauty's thrall;
One whose ready weapon leaps
At a call
From the scabbard where it sleeps;

One who wins him in the fray,
The wild struggle of each day,
Force and fame;
Adding somewhat hour by hour
To his name,
Till it breaks to golden flower.

Then this blossom bright and blown
Shall be hers and hers alone,
Shall expand
If she wills it at her breast,
When the hand
That bestowed it is at rest.