HIS PILGRIMAGE

by: Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618)

      IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
      My staff of faith to walk upon,
      My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
      My bottle of salvation,
      My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
      And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
       
      Blood must be my body's balmer;
      No other balm will there be given;
      Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
      Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
      Over the silver mountains,
      Where spring the nectar fountains;
      There will I kiss
      The bowl of bliss;
      And drink mine everlasting fill
      Upon every milken hill.
      My soul will be a-dry before;
      But, after, it will thirst no more.

MORE POEMS BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH

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