The Nameless Quest in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

“A spirit walking in a dream, I went
To the high throne&mdsah;they shook the firmament
With foolish cheers. I knelt before the queen
And wept in silence. Then, as it had been
And angel’s voice and touch, her face she bent,
Lifted and kissed me&mdsah;oh! her lips were keen!
Her voice was softer than a virgin’s eyes:
‘Go! my true knight: for thither, thither lies
The only road for thee; thou hast a prayer
Wafted each hour&mdsah;my spirit will be there!’
Too late I knew what subtle Paradise
Her dreams and prayers portend: too fresh, too fair!
I turned more wretched than myself knew yet.
I told my nameless pain I should forget
Its shadow as it passed.” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “How profound Strikes memory keen-fanged; memory, the hound That tracks me yet! a shiver takes my spine At one half-hint, the shadow of that sound.”
  2. “I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes: ‘Thou canst not see her–but my Queen shall rise.’ Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No: she was too wise. Her presence was to gracious to endure. ‘She did not bid me go and chain me to her,’ I cried, comparing.”
  3. “My voice–ah! flashes out the word of flame: ‘Eternal Beauty, One and absolute!'”
  4. “The king was silent. None of us would stir. I sat, struck dumb, a living sepulchre. For–hear me! in my heart this thing became My sacrament, my pentecostal flame. And with it grew a fear–a fear of Her. What Her? Shame had not found itself a name. Simply I knew it in myself. I brood Ten years–so seemed it–O! the bitter food In my mouth nauseate! In the silent hall One might have heard God’s sparrow in its fall. But I was lost in mine own solitude– I should not hear Mikhael’s trumpet-call. Yet there did grow a clamour shrill and loud: One cursed, one crossed himself, another vowed His soul against the quest; the tumult ran Indecorous in that presence, man to man. Stilled suddenly, beholding how I bowed My soul in thought: another cry began. ‘Gereth the dauntless! Gereth of the Sea! Gereth the loyal! Child of royalty! witch-mothered Gereth! Sword above the strong, heart pure, head many-wiled!’ The knightly throng Clamour my name, and flattering words, to me– If they may ‘scape the quest–I do them wrong; They are my friends! Yet something terrible Rings in the manly music that they swell. They are all caught in this immense desire Deeper than heaven, tameless as the fire. All catch the fear–the fear of Her–as well, And dare not–even afraid, I must aspire.”
  5. “He gladdened then. I would not slip again, And baulk the death of half its shame and pain. I, his best sword, must fall, in earnest fight. The old despair was coward–he was right. Now, king, I pay your debt. A purple stain Hides his laced throat–I sober at the sight.”