Holy Grail.

Summer has come to the upland trails,
That wind forever away,
Beckoning out to the great unknown—
Trackless ways I must tread alone
Along the strand where salt-sea spray
Lifts from the shores of a lost lagoon
On the lips of winds that have kissed the moon.
There will be deserts at burning noon—
And night sweet-hills as still as death,
Where a man may hear his every breath—
May hear his heart and know his soul
In the infinite quiet—be shriven and whole.
Oh, adventure calls from the upland trails,
That wind forever away.
Infinite dreams and ineffable things,
That lure as the song that the Siren sings,
Fraught with vague promise, false and sweet,
That charm the heart and lure the feet—
Kiss the lips with the bitter kiss
That drugs the mind to forgetfulness—
Damns the soul forever to roam
Far from the hills and the lights of home.
Yet, though I follow the upland trail
From shining north to calling south;
Though I spend my soul in search of the Grail,
And fall in the Last Long Drouth,
What shall I find transcending this?
The Wind's kiss,
And the Sun's kiss,
And the Rain's kiss?
—And my love's kiss on my mouth.
—E. Mary Gurney.