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

“The king did start,
Gripped my strong hands, and held me to his heart,
And could not speak a moment. Then he set
A curb of sorrow and subdued its dart.
‘Go! and the blessing of high God attend
Thy path, and lead thee to the doubtful end.
No tongue that secret ever may reveal.
Thy soul is god-like and thy frame is steel;
Thou mayst win the quest—the king, thy friend,
Gives thee his sword to keep thee—Gereth, kneel!
‘I dub thee Earl; arise!’ And then there rings
The queen’s voice: ‘Shall my love not match the king’s?
Here, from my finger drawn, this gem of power
Shall guard thee in some unimagined hour.
It hath strange virtue over mortal things.
I freely give it for thy stirrup’s dower.’
I left the presence. Now the buffeting wind
Gladdens my face—I leave the court behind.
Am I Stark mad? My face grows grim and grave;
I see—O Mary Mother, speak and save!
I stare and stare until mine eyes are blind—
There was no jewel in the ring she gave!” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “Up rears the pillar. Quaintly shaped and hued, It focussed all the sky and all the plain To its own ugliness. I looked again, And saw its magic in another mood. A shapeless truth took image in my brain.”
  2. “‘King, you are touched!’ ‘Fight on, Earl Lecherer!’ I cursed him to his face–the added spur Sticks venom in my lunge–a sudden thrust! No cry, no gasp; but he is in the dust, Stark dead. The queen–I hate the name of her! So grew the mustard-seed, one moment’s lust.”
  3. “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.”
  4. “The quest is mine! Here ends mortality In contemplating the eternal Thee.”
  5. “After a while he took the word again: ‘Go thou then moonwards; on the great salt plain; So to a pillar. Adamant, alone, It stands. Around it see them overthrown, King, earl, and knight. There lie the questing slain, A thousand years forgotten–bone by bone. ‘No more is spoken–the tradition goes: ‘There learns the seeker what he seeks or knows,’ Thence–none have passed. The desert leagues may keep Some other secret–some profounder deep Than this one echoed fear: the desert shows Its ghastly triumph–silence. There they sleep. ‘There, brave and pure, there, true and strong, they stay Bleached in the desert, till the solemn day Of God’s revenge–none knoweth them: they rest Unburied, unremembered, unconfessed. What names of strength, of majesty, had they? What suns are these gone down into the West?”