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the Equinox - The Hermetic Library

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96<br />

XXXVII<br />

SIR PALAMEDE is sick to death!<br />

<strong>The</strong> staring eyen, <strong>the</strong> haggard face!<br />

God grant to him <strong>the</strong> Beauteous breath!<br />

God send <strong>the</strong> Goodly Gift of Grace!<br />

<strong>The</strong>re is a white cave by <strong>the</strong> sea<br />

Wherein <strong>the</strong> knight is hid away.<br />

Just ere <strong>the</strong> night falls, spieth he<br />

<strong>The</strong> sun's last shaft flicker astray.<br />

All day is dark. <strong>The</strong>re, <strong>the</strong>re he mourns<br />

His wasted years, his purpose faint.<br />

A million whips, a million scorns<br />

Make <strong>the</strong> knight flinch, and stain <strong>the</strong> saint.<br />

For now! what hath he left? He feeds<br />

On limpets and wild roots. What odds?<br />

<strong>The</strong>re is no need a mortal needs<br />

Who hath loosed man's hope to grasp at God’s!<br />

How his head swims! At night what stirs<br />

Above <strong>the</strong> faint wash of <strong>the</strong> tide,<br />

And rare sea-birds whose winging whirrs<br />

About <strong>the</strong> cliffs? Now good betide!

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