Classic Poem

Heavy with thought, and burdened with desire,
O sturdy pilgrim, is it thus you go?
And is it thus accoutred, is it so,
They start upon the path who dare aspire
To climb the bastion where the peaks of fire,
Home of the thunder, burn against the blue?
And some have reached the goal — but not as you,
Heavy with thought and burdened with desire.

And I, poor cripple, neither faint nor tire;
My armour is the plumage of the dove,
My thoughts are feathers and my wings are love;
Higher I soar, and higher yet, and higher,
The dust, the noise, the darkness far above,
Upborne by thought and winged with desire.