Classic Poem

My honored sir, before you pick yourself
Up from the ground to mount that curious horse,
Let us speak calmly. There was no ill-feeling
On my part in the whole affair:
I but pursued my course.
Your fault is always to see personalities
In everything, even a cosmic force.

And could you not have looked behind appearances
And seen that brandished arms may lead to bread?
This obstinate rushing at surface characteristics
Does credit to your heart:
Not to your head.
Believe me, properly taken, my fan moves as lightly
As that Dulcinea's fan of whom you've read.