ACROSS the trodden continent of years <br />To shrines of long ago, <br />My heart, a hooded pilgrim, turns with tears-- <br />For could I know <br />That in the temple of thy constancy <br />There still may burn a taper lit for me, <br />'Twould be a star in starless heaven, to show <br />That Heaven could be. <br /> <br />Bent with the weight of all that I desired <br />And all that I forswore, <br />My heart roams, mendicant, forlorn and tired, <br />From door to door, <br />Begging of every stern-faced memory <br />An alms of pity--just to come to thee, <br />No more thy knight, thy champion no more-- <br />Only thy devotee!<br /><br />Isabel Ecclestone Mackay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-pilgrim/