Count thee on my chivalry.
Thy startled cringe is so helpless
Awaiting he who shall ride to thee fearless
Charging forth with a lance
To sweep thee off,with his chivalrous glance.
Thy sonorous lip sing
Of a knight ,who shall be king.
And conqueror of the vast crevices of thy thought
Which shall be hardly fought.
Thy eyes venture afar ,
Scouring the depths of every star.
For He so fit to dine on the nectar of the Gods.
And to ride thee on a gale ,fearing not the adversaries swords.
Count the on my chilvary.
And let thine hand sleep in my firm clasp.
Thou distressed damsel,shall never leave my grasp.
Even when my paths are clogged ,by a heart borne of rivalry.
Lovely! The use of old English gives this poem a unique taste and it suits thw subject matter perfectly.