Classic Poem

I read of knights who laid their armor down,
And left the tourney's prize for other hands,
And clad them in a pilgrim's somber gown,
To seek a holy cup in desert lands.
For them no more the torch of victory;
For them lone vigils and the starlight pale,
So they in dreams the Blessed Cup may see—
Thou art the Grail!

An Eastern king once smelled a rose in sleep,
And on the morrow laid his scepter down.
His heir his titles and his lands might keep,—
The rose was sweeter wearing than the crown.
Nor cared he that its life was but an hour,
A breath that from the crimson summer blows,
Who gladly paid a kingdom for a flower—
Thou art the Rose!

A merchant man, who knew the worth of things,
Beheld a pearl more priceless than a star;
And straight returning, all he hath he brings
And goes upon his way, Ah, richer far!
Laughter of merchants of the market place,
Nor taunting gibe nor scornful lips that curl,
Can ever cloud the rapture on his face—
Thou art the Pearl!