The Door of Death is made of Gold, That Mortal Eyes cannot behold; But, when the Mortal Eyes are clos'd, And cold and pale the Limbs repos'd, The Soul awakes; and, wond'ring, sees In her mild Hand the golden Keys: The Grave is Heaven's golden Gate, And rich and poor around it wait; O Shepherdess of England's Fold, Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold! To dedicate to England's Queen The Visions that my Soul has seen, And, by Her kind permission, bring What I have borne on solemn Wing, From the vast regions of the Grave, Before Her Throne my Wings I wave; Bowing before my Sov'reign's Feet, "The Grave produc'd these Blossoms sweet "In mild repose from Earthly strife; "The Blossoms of Eternal Life!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE TRENCHES by RICHARD ALDINGTON MY MOTHER LEFT ME by KAREN SWENSON INVITATION TO LOVE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S FASTING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE HONEYSUCKLE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS CEREMONIAL ODE; INTENDED FOR A UNIVERSITY by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE |