At The Granite Gate

There paused to shut the door     A fellow called the Wind.     With mystery before,     And reticence behind,     A portal waits me too     In the glad house of spring,     One day I shall pass through     And leave you wondering.     It lies beyond the marge     Of evening or of prime,     Silent and dim and large,     The gateway of all time.     There troop by night and day     My brothers of the field;     And I shall know the way     Their woodsongs have revealed.     The dusk will hold some trace     Of all my radiant crew     Who vanished to that place,     Ephemeral as dew.     Into the twilight dun,     Blue moth and dragon-fly     Adventuring alone,--     Shall be more brave than I?     There innocents shall bloom     And the white cherry tree,     With birch and willow plume     To strew the road for me.     The wilding orioles then     Shall make the golden air     Heavy with joy again,     And the dark heart shall dare     Resume the old desire,     The exigence of spring     To be the orange fire     That tips the world's gray wing.     And the lone wood-bird--Hark,     The whippoorwill night long     Threshing the summer dark     With his dim flail of song!--     Shall be the lyric lift,     When all my senses creep,     To bear me through the rift     In the blue range of sleep.     And so I pass beyond     The solace of your hand.     But ah, so brave and fond!     Within that morrow land,     Where deed and daring fail,     But joy forevermore     Shall tremble and prevail     Against the narrow door,     Where sorrow knocks too late,     And grief is overdue,     Beyond the granite gate     There will be thoughts of you.