On the Result of a Classical Education

In jeans a boy stood in the courtyard,

His brow crossed with heroic lines,

His head a whirl with words -

And the pages of the book were real

While Arthur’s voice was calling him

In echoes deafening,

“Flee not, my knight, stay put -

Fulfill thy sacred quest.”

And in Calormen’s hostile sands

Lay rakes for daily gardening,

And mother’s cries were lost

In the ring of running hooves.

‘Twas Sam’s voice dragged him back

To the joy of hoeing weeds,

And cried that folks in stories

Never gave up on quests.

A thing of beauty in debtor’s prison,

A lady, dancing mannerly,

A murderous sinner and an icon -

What Odysseys were these!

Set on a wall the remnants

Of a life not lost but treasured,

But voices cried aloud to come,

To share the fun and glamour.

What harm, to prove, to share?

But icons shook their heads to warn,

And Gandalf pleaded nay

And Arthur’s voice was calling him,

“Flee not, my knight, stay put -

Fulfill thy sacred quest.”