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

“‘Went your glance back—encountering my wife?’
‘Taunt me!’ I cried; ‘I will not be afraid!’
My whole soul weary of the coward strife.
He seemed to see no opening I gave,
But hated me the more. Serene and suave,
He fenced with deep contempt. I stumble, slip,
Guard wide—and only move his upper lip.” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “‘Resolve all question by a moonward tread. Follow the moon!’ Even so the king had said. My thought had thanked him for the generous breath Wherewith he warned us: for delay were death. And now, too late! no moon is overhead– Some other meaning in the words he saith? Or, am I tricked in such a little snare?”
  2. “Behold! I came with haggard mien again Into the hall, and mingled with the train, A corpse amid the dancers. Then the king Saw me, and knew me–and he knew the ring!”
  3. “‘You know I will not strike, Sir pure and brave! Fight me your best–or I shall find a whip!’ That stung me, even me. He wronged me, so: Therefore some shame and hate informed the blow; Some coward’s courage pointed me the steel; Some strength of Hell: we lunge, and leap, and wheel; Hard breath and laboured hands–the flashes grow Swifter and cruel–this court hath no appeal!”
  4. “Where am I? Seven days my spirit fell, Down, down the whirlpools and the gulfs of hell: Seven days a corpse lay desolate–at last Back drew the spirit and the soul aghast To animate that clay–O horrible! The resurrection pang is hardly past. Yet in awhile I stumbled to my feet To flee–no nightmare could be worse to meet. And, spite of that, I knew some deadlier trap Some worm more poisonous would set–mayhap!”
  5. “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.”