Though we must die, I would not die 
When fields are brown and bleak, 
When wild-geese stream across the sky, 
And the cart-lodge timbers creak. 
For it would be so lone and drear 
To sleep beneath the snow, 
When children carol Christmas cheer, 
And Christmas rafters glow. 

Nor would I die, though we must die, 
When yeanlings blindly bleat, 
When the cuckoo laughs, and lovers sigh, 
And O, to live is sweet! 
When cowslips come again, and Spring 
Is winsome with their breath, 
And Life's in love with everything — 
With everything but Death. 

Let me not die, though we must die, 
When bowls are brimmed with cream, 
When milch-cows in the meadows lie, 
Or wade amid the stream; 
When dewy-dimpled roses smile 
To see the face of June, 
And lad and lass meet at the stile, 
Or roam beneath the moon. 

Since we must die, then let me die 
When flows the harvest ale, 
When the reaper lays the sickle by, 
And taketh down the flail; 
When all we prized, and all we planned, 
Is ripe and stored at last, 
And Autumn looks across the land, 
And ponders on the past: 
Then let me die. 

In the days of old in La Mancha land,
Lived a noble knight, his quest so grand,
Don Quixote, brave and true,
With his faithful squire, the world they'd view.

Oh, Don Quixote, man of dreams,
Gallant knight of noble schemes,
With lance and shield, he rides so bold,
In tales of chivalry, his story's told.

With armour rusted and heart so pure,
To right all wrongs, his oath was sure,
On Rocinante, his steed so tall,
He'd fight for honour, justice for all.

Through windmills' arms, he'd charge with might,
Mistaking them for giants in the night,
For love of Dulcinea, his lady fair,
In every deed, she was always there.

By inns and taverns, through fields of gold,
He sought adventures, stories to unfold,
With Sancho Panza, his loyal friend,
By his side until the very end.

With wisdom simple, Sancho tried,
To show the truth where folly lied,
But Quixote’s vision, noble and grand,
Saw only the magic in every land.

From castle halls to gypsy camps,
Through starry nights and misty damps,
They journeyed far, both near and wide,
With dreams and hopes, their only guide.

In battles fought and kindness shown,
A legend grew, their fame had grown,
Though mocked by many, loved by few,
Their spirits high, their hearts so true.

But time must take its final toll,
As dreams fade out and truths unfold,
Quixote, weary, laid down his arms,
Returning home from distant charms.

In peace he rested, his quest now done,
A hero's journey, a life well-spun,
And though he's gone, his tale remains,
A beacon bright through joy and pains.

So sing we now of Quixote's fight,
A knight of old with heart so light,
In every heart his dream shall stay,
A timeless tale of Don Quixote's way.