Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/189



"You must be very old, Sir Giles,"

I said; he said: "Yea, very old:"

Whereat the mournfullest of smiles

Creased his dry skin with many a fold.

"They hammer'd out my basnet point

Into a round salade," he said,

"The basnet being quite out of joint,

Natheless the salade rasps my head."

He gazed at the great fire awhile:

"And you are getting old. Sir John;"

(He said this with that cunning smile

That was most sad;) "we both wear on,

"Knights come to court and look at me.

With eyebrows up, except my lord,

And my dear lady, none I see

That know the ways of my old sword."

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