Here you will find the Poem A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXVII of poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The poets, every one, have sung of passion. But which has sung of friendship, man with man? Love seeks its price, but friendship has a fashion Larger to give, and of less selfish plan. The world grows old. From Beersheba to Dan We find all barren, ruby lips grown ashen, Hearts hard with years--and only Jonathan Weeping with David o'er a ruined nation. Then in the depth of days and our despair, We count our treasures, if so be remain Some loving letters, rings and locks of hair. Nay, mourn not love. These only are not vain, Your manlier wounds, when in the front you stood, For a friend's sake and your sworn Brotherhood.
