Knight in Disguise

His armor does not mark him brave,
No silver crested sword is swung
To match his stride, no ringing spurs,
No prancing steed, his quest incurs,
For Beauty's sake he will be hung
With careful calm above a grave
To risk his life, his dreams, his gains,
That man shall find the sun more bright,
And knows the moon is like a cup
Of gold these forty stories up,
That there may be unfettered light
When he has washed the window panes.

GLADYS McKEE.