The Templar's Plea

O fearful maiden, tremble not, and still your fearful heart,
For virtue is the gem within your crown that drew my eye.
I would not tarnish such a pretty stone with heavy hand,
Though power’s mine to take it, force would shatter such a prize.

My shield is bare, no icon there, no symbol to declare
Allegiance and my fealty to a power or a cause.
The gem you wear so lightly on your brow so soft and white
Would be a mighty charge upon the field of argent honour.

Jerusalem would quake with fear when sight of it was met.
The Saracen would fly from field with terror at the sight.
How could they not when sight of you did murder to my heart
And Templar vows did die for you when first you spoke my name?

Show mercy to a wounded soul, extend your maiden’s hand.
Receive one brush of pious lips upon your trembling palm.
Your gaze is such a tonic that one tender touch of hand
Is like to lend the might of ten to he who dares the draught.

And then, adieu, to dream of you through nights of blowing sand
‘Til Arab dogs lie penitent before the Holy Sepulchre.
There Saladin will kneel before the source of all my strength,
His lips will brush your icon once before I take his head.

And then will I return to thee, my armour sold for passage,
And I will wield the axe and plough for thee in fairest fashion.
These pious lips will brush thy palm with passion unrelenting.
And thee and I will tarry long in times of joy eternal.

So tremble not, fair maiden, for the fire within my breast
Will warm thee, never burn thee, and will kindle such a flame
To eclipse the sun itself and set the firmament to singing.
Every time I pledge my heart to thee and when you speak my name.