GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, <br /> My staff of faith to walk upon, <br />My scrip of joy, immortal diet, <br /> My bottle of salvation, <br />My gown of glory, hope's true gage; <br />And thus I'll take my pilgrimage. <br /> <br />Blood must be my body's balmer; <br /> No other balm will there be given: <br />Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, <br /> Travelleth towards the land of heaven; <br />Over the silver mountains, <br />Where spring the nectar fountains; <br /> There will I kiss <br /> The bowl of bliss; <br />And drink mine everlasting fill <br />Upon every milken hill. <br />My soul will be a-dry before; <br />But, after, it will thirst no more.<br /><br />Sir Walter Raleigh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-pilgrimage/
