His Pilgrimage

Sir Walter Raleigh

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.

Next 10 Poems

• Sir Walter Raleigh : Life
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Like Truthless Dreams, So Are My Joys Expired
• Sir Walter Raleigh : My Last Will
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Nature That Washed Her Hands In Milk
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Now What Is Love
• Sir Walter Raleigh : On Being Challenged To Write An Epigram In The Manner Of Herrick
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Prais'd Be Diana's Fair And Harmless Light
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Sestina Otiosa
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Song Of Myself
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Stans Puer Ad Mensam

Previous 10 Poems

• Sir Walter Raleigh : Her Reply
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Farewell To The Court
• Sir Walter Raleigh : Epitaph
• Sir Walter Raleigh : As You Came From The Holy Land
• Sir Walter Raleigh : A Literature Lesson. Sir Patrick Spens In The Eighteenth Century Manner
• Sir Walter Raleigh : A Farewell To False Love
• Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin : To Gnedich
• Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin : The Wondrous Moment Of Our Meeting...
• Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin : The Water-nymph
• Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin : The Flower