Here you will find thePoemA New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXVIIIof poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Yet it is pitiful how friendships die, Spite of our oaths eternal and high vows. Some fall through blight of tongues wagged secretly, Some through strifes loud in empty honour's house. Some vanish with fame got too glorious, And rapt to heaven in fiery chariots fly; And some are drowned in sloth and the carouse Of wedded joys and long love's tyranny. O ye, who with high--hearted valliance Deem truth eternal and youth's dreams divine, Keep ye from love and fame and the mischance Of other worship than the Muses nine. So haply shall you tread life's latest strand With a true brother still, and hand in hand.
