And if he should come again
In the old glad way,
I should smile and take his hand.
What were there to say?

I should close my eyes and smile,
And my soul would be
Like the peace of summer noons
Beside the sea.

My good blade carves the casques of men,
  My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
  Because my heart is pure.
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
  The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splintered spear-shafts...