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

“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.” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “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!”
  2. “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!”
  3. “God’s heart! the antics, as they toil and shove! One grabs a coin, one life, another love. All shriek, ‘The prize is mine!’ as men possessed. I was not fooled at anything thereof. Rather I hated them, and scorned for slaves; ‘Fools! all your treasure is at last the grave’s!'”
  4. “THE king was silent. In the blazoned hall Shadows, more mute than at a funeral True mourners, waited, waited in the gloom; Waited to hear what child was in the womb Of his high thoughts. As dead men were we all; As dead men wait the trumpet in the tomb. The king was silent. Tense the high-strung air Must save itself by trembling–if it dare. Then a lone shudder ran across the space; Each man ashamed to see his fellow’s face, Each troubled and confused. He did not spare Our fear–he spake not yet a little space.”
  5. “What meets mine ear, That every nerve and bone of me cries halt? What is this cold that nips me at the throat? This shiver in my blood? this icy note Of awe within my agonising brain? Neither of shame, nor love, nor fear, nor pain, Nor anything? Has love no antidote, Courage no buckler? Hark! it comes again. Friend, hast thou heard the wailing of the damned? Friend, hast thou listened when a murderer shammed Pale smiles amid his fellows as they spoke Low of his crime: his fear is like to choke His palsied throat. How, if Hell’s gate were slammed This very hour upon thy womanfolk? Conceive, I charge thee! Brace thy spirit up To drink at that imagination’s cup! Then, shriek, and pass! For thou shalt understand A little of the pressure of the hand That crushed me now.”