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

“Then surged the maddening tide
Of my intention. Onward! Let me run!
Thy steed, O Moon! Thy chariot, O Sun!
Lend me fierce feet, winged sandals, wings as wide
As thine, O East wind! And the goal is won!
Was ever such a cruel solitude?” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “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.”
  2. “Then, my spirit knew her For One beyond all song–my poor heart turned: Then, ’tis no wonder. And my passion burned Mightier yet than ever. To renew her Venom from those pure eyes? And yet I yearned. Still, I stepped onward. Credit me so far! The harlot had my soul: my will, the star!”
  3. “So the long way seemed moving as I went, Flashing beneath me; and the firmament Moving with quicker robes that swept the air. Still Dian drew me to her bosom bare, And madness more than will was my content. I moved, and as I moved I was aware!”
  4. “Again the cursed cry: ‘What quest is this? Is it worth heaven in thy lover’s kiss? A queen, a queen, to kiss and never tire! Thy queen, quick-breathing for your twin desire!’ I shudder, for the mystery of bliss; I go, heart crying and a soul on fire!”
  5. “Night came upon me thus–a wizard hand Grasping with silence the reluctant land. Through night I clomb–behind me grew the light Reflected in the portal of the night. I reached the crest at dawn–pallid I stand, Uncomprehending of the sudden sight. The river and the bridge! The river flows, Tears of young orphans for its limpid woes. The red bridge quivers–how my spirit starts, Its seeming glory built of widows’ hearts! And yet I could disdain it–heaven knows I had no dear ones for their counterparts.