Digby Mackworth Dolben

1848-1867 / England

The Pilgrim And The Knight

Here in the flats that encompass the hills called Beautiful, lying,
O Beloved, behold a Pilgrim who fain would be sleeping,
Did not at times the snows that diadem summits above him
Break on his dreams, and scatter the slumberous mists from his eyelids,
Flashing the consciousness back, by weariness half overpowered,
Of journeying unfulfilled and feet that have toiled but attained not.
Then, in a sudden trance, (as the man whose eyes were opened
But for a little while, then closed to night everlasting,)
High on the slopes of the terraced hills a goodly procession:
White are the horses and white are the plumes and white are the vestures,
White is the heaven above with pearls that the dawning is scattering,
White beneath the flowerless fields that are hedged with the snowdrift.
These are the Knights of the Lord, who fight with the Beast and the Prophet.
Ho for the Knight that rides in the splendour of opening manhood,
Calm as Michael, when, out from the Beatifical Vision,
Bearing the might of the Lord, he passed to conquer the Dragon.
Yet, in those passionless eyes, if hitherward turned for a moment,
Might not some memory waken of him whom he loved in the Distance,
Ere from Holy Land the voice of the trumpet had sounded-
'O Beloved'-Enough; the words unechoed, unanswered,
Fade with the vision away on the slopes of the Beautiful Mountains.
Yet-remember me, Thou Captain of Israel's Knighthood,
Thou to John made known in the Revelation of Patmos.
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