The Equinox (Volume I, Number III)

SIR PALAMEDES, THE SARACEN KNIGHT Treads the impending glacier. Now, now he strikes the steep black ice That leads to the last neck. By Her That bore the Lord, by what device May he pass there? Yet still he moves, Ardent and steady, as if the price Of death were less than life approves, As if on eagles’ wings he mounted, Or as on angels’ wings—or love’s! So, all the journey he discounted, Holding the goal. Supreme he stood. Upon the summit; dreams uncounted, Worlds of sublime beatitude ! He passed beyond. The All he hath touched, And dropped to vile desuetude. What lay beyond? What star unsmutched By being? His poor fingers fumble, And all the Naught their ardour clutched, Like all the rest, begins to crumble. Where is the Beast? His bliss exceeded All that bards sing of or priests mumble; No man, no God, hath known what he did. Only this baulked him—that he lacked Exactly the one thing he needed. 107