Myth, Legend

With foreign thoughts 
and singing sword 
the knight of old 
went abroad 
His ebony skin, 
his ivory hair, 
he rode upon 
the queen of the mares 
His lips did not move 
not to speak a word, 
a vow once taken 
his voice not since heard 
He travelled till 
his locks where long, 
he travelled not 
to right a wrong 
He travelled till 
he'd forgotten his name, 
he travelled not 
for glory or fame 
He travelled till 
he sighed at reflections, 
he travelled not 
for a woman's affections 
He travelled till 
he was old and wise, 
he'd travelled because 
the free bird flies 
He opened his lips 
"cellar door" he cried 
he'd broken his vow 
and with that he died 
 
(I feel the flow could be better in places and I'm not too happy with the sixth stanza but otherwise I hope you like it)

The Knight of Old