Truth is, I lie exhausted in
The midst of all my efforts spent,
Futile as wheels that spin and spin
That have from ground removèd been.
The effort in my breast was pent
To struggle forth, against great odds,
And to the chase I gave assent
That lance extended forward went.
The struggle was not mine nor God’s,
But merely a misunderstanding
Compounded, hastened on by prods
From “ignorant armies” blind in squads.
’Twas never soft, but harsh a landing,
For I was not a paladin,
None their imprimatur me handing
Thereby with sanction my task branding.