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the Equinox - The Hermetic Library

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86<br />

XXXIII<br />

SIR PALAMEDE <strong>the</strong> Saracen<br />

Hath passed unto <strong>the</strong> tideless sea,<br />

That <strong>the</strong> keen whisper of <strong>the</strong> wind<br />

May bring him that which never men<br />

Knew—on <strong>the</strong> quest, <strong>the</strong> quest, rides he!<br />

So long to seek, so far to find!<br />

So weary was <strong>the</strong> knight, his limbs<br />

Were slack as new-slain dove’s; his knees<br />

No longer gripped <strong>the</strong> charger rude.<br />

Listless, he aches; his purpose swims<br />

Exhausted in <strong>the</strong> oily seas<br />

Of laxity and lassitude.<br />

<strong>The</strong> soul subsides; its serious motion<br />

Still throbs; by habit, not by will.<br />

And all his lust to win <strong>the</strong> quest<br />

Is but a passive-mild devotion.<br />

(Ay! soon <strong>the</strong> blood shall run right chill<br />

—And is not death <strong>the</strong> Lord of Rest?)<br />

<strong>The</strong>re as he basks upon <strong>the</strong> cliff<br />

He yearns toward <strong>the</strong> Beast; his eyes<br />

Are moist with love; his lips are fain

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