Sir walter raleigh poems white palmer

Blood must be my body's balmer, No other balm will there be given, Whilst my soul, like a white palmer, Travels to the land of heaven.

And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

Whilst my soul like a white palmer; Travels to the land of heaven,; Where spring the nectar fountains;; And there I'll kiss; The bowl of bliss,; And drink my.

•

The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage

1Give me my scallop shell of quiet,

2My staff of faith to walk upon,

3My scrip of joy, immortal diet,

4My bottle of salvation,

5My gown of glory, hope's true gage,

6And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

7 Blood must be my body's balmer,

8No other balm will there be given,

9Whilst my soul, like a white palmer,

10Travels to the land of heaven;

11Over the silver mountains,

12Where spring the nectar fountains;

13And there I'll kiss

14The bowl of bliss,

15And drink my eternal fill

16On every milken hill.

17My soul will be a-dry before,

18But after it will ne'er thirst more;

19And by the happy salig way

20More peaceful pilgrims inom shall see,

21That have shook off their gowns of clay,

22And go apparelled fresh like me.

23I'll bring them first

24To slake their thirst,

25And then to taste those nectar suckets,

26At the klar wells

27Where sweetness dwells,

28Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

•

GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,

My staff of faith to walk upon,

My scrip of joy, immortal diet,

My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, hope's true gage,

And thus I'll make my pilgrimage.

Blood may be my body's balmer,

No other balm will there be given,

Whilst my soul like a white palmer

Travels to the land of heaven,

Where spring the nectar fountains;

And there I'll kiss

The bowl of bliss,

And drink my eternal fill

On every milken hill.

My soul will be a-dry before,

But after it will ne'er thirst more.

And by the happy blissful way

More peaceful pilgrims shall I see,

That have shook off their gowns of clay

And go apparelled fresh like me.

I'll bring them first

To slake their thirst,

And then to taste those nectar suckets,

At the clear wells

Where sweetness dwells,

Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

And when our bottles and all we

Are filled with immortality,

Then the holy paths we'll travel,

Strewed with rubies t

•

Borrowed this line from a letter Sir Walter

           Raleigh wrote to the Queen of England begging
           forgiveness for some piratical activity. It
           sounded more like a title of a Motown tune, and
           I couldn’t pass it up. I hope Sir Walter didn’t
           turn over in his grave.

JB liner notes for “Down on the Knees of My Heart”
on Riddles in the Sand