THE EARL’S QUEST 
 
Written at Camp Despair, 20,000 ft., Chogo Ri Lungma, Baltistan. 
 
SO now the Earl was well a-weary of 
The grievous folly of this wandering. 
Had he been able to have counted Love 
 
Or Power, or Knowledge as the sole strong thing 
Fit to suffice his quest, his eyes had gleamed 
With the success already grasped.  The sting 
 
Of all he suffered, was that he esteemed 
His quest partook of all and yet of none. 
So as he rode the woodlands out there beamed 
 
The dull large spectre of a grim flat sun, 
Red and obscure upon the leaden haze 
That lapped and wrapped and rode the horizon. 
 
The Earl rode steadily on.  A crest caught rays 
Of that abominable sunset, sharp 
With needles of young pines, their tips ablaze. 
 
Their feet dead black ; the wind’s dark fingers warp 
To its own time their strings, a sombre mode 
Found by a ghost on a forgotten harp 
 
151