IV

SOMETIMES I met with one, and would have cried,

“Pilgrim! by the proud manner of your going

Clearly you ask no alms when ills betide.

Though of your journey’ s end I have no knowing,

Travel a little distance by my side.

Lonely am I; lonely; I have not spoken

Closely with friend this many a questing day;

Body, my beast of burden, stumbles broken,

Rowelled by desperate spur along the way.

Pilgrim, if lonely spirit cross another

And pride in me salute in you your pride,

Shall we not either recognise a brother?”

But reticence held me, and I passed him wide.