Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PILGRIMAGE, by GEORGE HERBERT

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THE PILGRIMAGE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: I travelled on, seeing the hill, where lay
Last Line: And but a chair.

I TRAVELL'D on, seeing the hill, where lay
My expectation.
A long it was and weary way.
The gloomy cave of Desperation
I left on th' one, and on the other side
The rock of Pride.

And so I came to Phansies medow, strow'd
With many a flower:
Fain would I here have made abode,
But I was quicken'd by my houre.
So to Cares cops I came, and there got through
With much ado.

That led me to the wilde of Passion; which
Some call the wold;
A wasted place, but sometimes rich.
Here I was robb'd of all my gold,
Save one good angell, which a friend had ti'd
Close to my side.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill,
Where lay my hope,
Where lay my heart; and, climbing still,
When I had gain'd the brow and top,
A lake of brackish waters on the ground
Was all I found.

With that abash'd, and struck with many a sting
Of swarming fears,
I fell, and cry'd, Alas, my King!
Can both the way and end be tears?
Yet, taking heart, I rose, and then perceiv'd
I was deceiv'd:

My hill was further; so I flung away,
Yet heard a crie,
Just as I went, None goes that way
And lives. If that be all, said I,
After so foul a journey death is fair,
And but a chair.

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