C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
At the Granite Gate
By Bliss Carman (1861–1929)
T
A fellow called the Wind.
With mystery before,
And reticence behind,
In the glad house of spring;
One day I shall pass through
And leave you wondering.
Of evening or of prime,
Silent and dim and large,
The gateway of all time.
My brothers of the field;
And I shall know the way
Their wood-songs have revealed.
Of all my radiant crew
Who vanished to that place,
Ephemeral as dew.
Blue moth and dragon-fly
Adventuring alone,—
Shall be more brave than I?
And the white cherry tree,
With birch and willow plume
To strew the road for me.
Shall make the golden air
Heavy with joy again,
And the dark heart shall dare
The exigence of spring
To be the orange fire
That tips the world’s gray wing.
The whippoorwill, night-long,
Threshing the summer dark
With his dim flail of song!—
When all my senses creep,
To bear me through the rift
In the blue range of sleep.
The solace of your hand.
But ah, so brave and fond!
Within that morrow-land,
But joy forevermore
Shall tremble and prevail
Against the narrow door,
And grief is overdue,
Beyond the granite gate
There will be thoughts of you.