DULCINEA:

In dreams he came visiting, mounted upon sturdy steed,

Toasting her radiant beauty, with horn of golden mead,

Tilting at passing windmills, with hawk upon his shoulder,

Galloping over dry sierras, golden fields & flinted boulders.

 

Dulcinea´s voice echoing, through Iberia´s ancient hills,

Whispering upon breezes, caressed by calling windmills,

Quixote plods on, upon Rocinante´s sad tired old back,

The Spanish setting sun, horizon´s burning chimney stack.

 

Beautiful Dulcinea, of La Mancha´s dusty, scrubby plains,

Her voice beckoning him on, removing all his lonely pains,

With armoured visor down & his long lance duly posed,

To his imaginary love Dulcinea, he carried blood red rose.