Swing out thy doors, high gate that dreadst not night, Bronze to the left and iron to the right. Deep in a cistern has been flung thy key; If dread thee close, anathema on thee; And like twin shears let thy twin portals cut The hand's fist through that would thee falsely shut Again thy dusky vault hath heard resound Steps of strong men who never yet gave ground, Marching with whom came breathless and came bold Victory naked with broad wings of gold. Her glaive to guide them calmly soars and dips; Her kiss is lifeblood's purple on their lips. From rose-round mouths the clarions shake and shrill, A brazen boom of bees that hunt to kill. "Drink, swarm of war, stream from your plated hives And cull death's dust on flowery-fleshed fierce lives, So, when back home to native town ye march, Beneath those golden wings and my black arch May all men watch my pavement, as each pace Of your red feet leaves clear its sanguine trace." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NORTH WINTER by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DISCRETE LOVE POEM by JAMES GALVIN LETHE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I RISE UP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON READING WHITMAN IN A TOILET STALL by TIMOTHY LIU |