XL
Sir PALAMEDE the Saracen
Hath seen the All; his mind is set
To pass beyond that great Amen.
Far hath he wandered; still to fret
His soul against that Soul. He breaches
The rhododendron forest-net,
His body bloody with its leeches.
Sternly he travelleth the crest
Of a great mountain, far that reaches
Toward the King-snows; the rains molest
The knight, white wastes updriven of wind
In sheets, in torrents, fiend-possessed,
Up from the steaming plains of Ind.
They cut his flesh, they chill his bones :
Yet he feels naught; his mind is pinned
To that one point where all the thrones
Join to one lion-head of rock,
Towering above all crests and cones
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