[Written for the Sentinel.]

OUR KNIGHT

Surely he'd come, this knight, and like the king,Arthur of old, redress the wrong and standFor honor, justice, and for stainless truth!In dream I saw him draw his sword,—the Word,Before whose power wrong shrinks, abashed and pale,Foreseeing doom in this one flash of light.

One came—but Modred he—not Arthur, king.Like all the world, save only those who seeBeyond the glamour and the sheen of gold,He paid his homage at the court of fame.

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FROM OUR EXCHANGES
March 19, 1910
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