Classic Poem

I know an ancient story
Woeful and sad in sooth;
A knight was lying love-stricken,
For his love had broken her troth.

Perforce must he despise her,
That faithless lady fair;
Must ever scorn as shameful
His own regret and despair.

He is fain to ride in the tourney
And challenge the nobles all;
“Who says that my love is not spotless,
Let him come to the lists and fall.”

The knights around would be silent,
But not his own keen smart;
By himself must the lance be levelled
At his own poor broken heart.