Lancelot

He felt cruelty and cowardice in his heart, 
the things which made him brave and kind.

Every tilt went his way,
and every soul knew his name,
though he never felt fit
to love himself without blame.

Every violent cur knew his armor,
and ran fearing his relentless blade.
He spared the lives of wicked men
though it put his conscience in a rage.

His face, they say, was barbarous,
gnarled like vines in a crumbling well.
The people knew and adored him despite,
but could not salvage the ties to himself.

He set out to quest in the name of his King,
attempting to escape the eyes of his Queen.
But the noble fool couldn't help his romance,
and sent every prisoner to kneel at her feet.

The rest buckles beneath history.
His name sparkles in every child's mouth.
He who loved his King, and his Queen even more,
but blamed himself for the fall of Camelot.