“But hold,” said Cole, “who are you, fellow, “Now answer me fair and well?” “I was born in France,” said the Knight in red, “And my name’s Pantagruel.” “That’s a good name,” laughed old King Cole. “But whither are you bound?” “I search for the Holy Bottle, King, “And I pray it may be found.” “That’s a true answer,” said Old King Cole, “And here you shall abide; “Come up to my throne and reign forever, “And sit you by my side.” “Away with the rest,” said Old King Cole, “And fetch my bowl,” said he. “Here is Pantagruel found at last, “To keep me company.” From under the throne he drew the bottle And poured wine into the bowl; Pantagruel stepped to the dais And drank with Old King Cole. “Give yellow and black and scholar’s cloak A bed in the royal room.” But Old King Cole and Pantagruel Drank till the morning’s bloom. They laughed and drank till the dawn was red, While the sleepers prayed and wept. They sang to the violins till day, While black and yellow slept. But Old King Cole, the merry old soul, Was a curious soul as well: “Who are these fellows,” queried he Of his friend Pantagruel. “Well, never ask me,” said Pantagruel, “I met them down by the river; “But whether they came from the Land of Lanterns “They’re traveling on forever.” They went to the room with a candle light And looked in the face of the three-- “They’re a sorry lot,” said Old King Cole; “They’re a sorry lot,” said he. They held the candle to gray beard’s face, And gray beard moaned in his rest. And pricked in color of India ink Was a windmill on his breast. The other muttered “Life is a shadow,” And his face was young and pale: And pricked on his arm was a green serpent Devouring its own tail. The other sighed: “I still must struggle And strive until I die.” And over his heart was pricked the shape Of a wingéd butterfly. “What do I see,” said Old King Cole, “Has the wine gone into my brain? “Who’s Helen of Troy? Who’d leave England? “And who’d return to Spain?” Pantagruel and Old King Cole Slip down the stairs in stealth, They fill the bowl from the Holy Bottle And drink each other’s health. They stand at the window to watch the sun And the mists of morning clear: Three knights on horses climb the hill, And silently disappear. And yellow and black and scholar’s cloak Into the light have gone; And the tiger banner and dragon banner Flutter against the dawn. “There’s the dragon banner,” says Old King Cole, “And the tiger banner,” he sighs. Pantagruel breaks into a laugh, As the monarch dries his eyes. Printed in the United States of America. * * * * *