Behind thy pasteboard, on thy battered hack, Thy lean cheek striped with plaster to and fro, Thy long spear levelled at the unseen foe, And doubtful Sancho trudging at thy back,...
Even as one in city pent, Dazed with the stir and din of town, Drums on the pane in discontent, And sees the dreary rain come down, Yet, through the dimmed and dripping glass,...