Here it is, Beloved—Day 2 of C.S. Lewis week.
I must admit…I identify with this poem far more than I would like.
Pilgrim’s Problem
By now I should be entering on the supreme stage
Of the whole walk, reserved for late afternoon.
The heat was to be over now; the anxious mountains,
The airless valleys and sun-baked rocks, behind me.
Now, or soon now, if all is well, come the majestic
Rivers of foamless charity that glide beneath
Forests of contemplation. In the grassy clearings
Humility with liquid eyes and damp, cool nose
Should come, half tame, to eat bread from my hermit hand.
If storms arose, then in my tower of fortitude—
It ought to have been in sight by this—I would take refuge;
But I expected rather a pale mackerel sky,
Feather-like, perhaps shaking from a lower cloud
Light drops of silver temperance, and clover earth
Sending up mists of chastity, a country smell,
Till earnest stars blaze out in the established sky
Rigid with justice; the streams audible; my rest secure.
I can see nothing like all this. Was the map wrong?
Maps can be wrong. But the experienced walker knows
That the other explanation is more often true.