For the last time let's gird up the knight:
The shining armor, sharp sword and shield,
Helm and visor; lead the charger
Toward battle, to tilt with the dragon that is
Not woman but the myth of woman,
Once more, and finally, to slay the many
Liv'd beast, and let the woman come out
As she may, at least no longer mythy.

Draw thy sword and swing as you pass, warrior!
Yet, no? Do you dare tempt the wrath of the beast?
Stay -- surely that shining hair that spills out
Thy helm belongs to no man. Then at your own
Comand, warrior! I am no sovereign here. Thy
Self is sovereign and beholden to none, not even
To a poet. At this pass, perhaps she will ... yet
As she may. What? Dismounted? Oh, woman,
What is thy game? I am overmastered here -- I
Must hold my tongue, or write of men and dogs.

. .