His Pilgrimage
1552-1618
GIVE 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.
DayPoems Poem No. 79
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/79.html">His Pilgrimage by Sir Walter Raleigh</a>
The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor
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