The Lifted Latch
WHEN in the shadow of the Postern Gate
I stand to wait the changing of the watch
Which shall convey me, suddenly sedate
And dumb with wonder, toward the mystic Latch
That, lifting, opens heaven on my sight,
By the last sentry of departing Night
I shall be told, ‘Fear not, but speak the Truth.’
As one who goes to trial will supplicate
Neither by speech nor gesture, but by youth,
By bright youth treading so unwittingly,
So, peradventure, will the sight of me,
So silent there, move the new guards to tell
What answer wins Christ’s pure blue asphodel.
And one will say, ‘Speak not of what you wrought.’
And one, ‘Tell not your wealth, nor what you gave.’
And yet another, ‘ Cringe not like a slave,
Nor yet be proud, for man was made from naught.’
And one who by my wonderment was moved
Will whisper, ‘ Only tell how thou hast loved.’
I stand to wait the changing of the watch
Which shall convey me, suddenly sedate
And dumb with wonder, toward the mystic Latch
That, lifting, opens heaven on my sight,
By the last sentry of departing Night
I shall be told, ‘Fear not, but speak the Truth.’
As one who goes to trial will supplicate
Neither by speech nor gesture, but by youth,
By bright youth treading so unwittingly,
So, peradventure, will the sight of me,
So silent there, move the new guards to tell
What answer wins Christ’s pure blue asphodel.
And one will say, ‘Speak not of what you wrought.’
And one, ‘Tell not your wealth, nor what you gave.’
And yet another, ‘ Cringe not like a slave,
Nor yet be proud, for man was made from naught.’
And one who by my wonderment was moved
Will whisper, ‘ Only tell how thou hast loved.’
So, when the Moment comes, my kindling soul
Shall meet again the brave and beautiful
Which touched me here, and healed and made me whole,
Filling my heart till it was dutiful
Through love of beauty. Crowned with joy in these,
I shall be gifted with a courage born
Of beauty that was fashioned night and morn
In that dark world which gave me memories
Too poignant to be lost.
Shall meet again the brave and beautiful
Which touched me here, and healed and made me whole,
Filling my heart till it was dutiful
Through love of beauty. Crowned with joy in these,
I shall be gifted with a courage born
Of beauty that was fashioned night and morn
In that dark world which gave me memories
Too poignant to be lost.
‘And have you loved ? ’
‘ — O Gentlest One who visited our earth,
I have loved well the westward winds that moved
The weary seas to merriment and mirth;
The upland fields in wheat; the larks at dawn
Flighting before the plough; the orchard smell;
And all the jewels on the dreaming lawn
When morning breaks; the gray furred buds that swell
On twigs in March; and then the sudden, pale,
Gleam of fresh-trumpeted wet daffodils,
April’s bright bugles, vibrant with the hale
And hearty breath of Spring’s green yeomanry,
Carousing ’mid the wine that earth distils
At bidding of the sun! All things that grow
My heart has held; and things inanimate
Fashioned by men, by humble men and great;
The fruit of patient hands, both high and low.
Structural beauty, as in stately stone,
Imperial arches that swift rivers span;
And beauty that is latent and alone
As pine trees are; and I have loved all hours
Of day and night at home, where quiet is.
Lord, I have loved my sewing as my flowers,
My sweeping as my children’s morning kiss.
Thou knowest that I loved man’s honesty
And all his fortitude and gallant strife
Which brought him near to Thee; the chivalry
With which Thou gird’st him for his spirit’s life,
Lest earth extinguish him. Thou knowest this,
And knowing this, perforce must know as well
That other love of which I need not tell
Since Thou Thyself hast made it what it is.’
Thus my loved earth perchance my heaven shall prove
Through grace of loving what was mine to love.
‘ — O Gentlest One who visited our earth,
I have loved well the westward winds that moved
The weary seas to merriment and mirth;
The upland fields in wheat; the larks at dawn
Flighting before the plough; the orchard smell;
And all the jewels on the dreaming lawn
When morning breaks; the gray furred buds that swell
On twigs in March; and then the sudden, pale,
Gleam of fresh-trumpeted wet daffodils,
April’s bright bugles, vibrant with the hale
And hearty breath of Spring’s green yeomanry,
Carousing ’mid the wine that earth distils
At bidding of the sun! All things that grow
My heart has held; and things inanimate
Fashioned by men, by humble men and great;
The fruit of patient hands, both high and low.
Structural beauty, as in stately stone,
Imperial arches that swift rivers span;
And beauty that is latent and alone
As pine trees are; and I have loved all hours
Of day and night at home, where quiet is.
Lord, I have loved my sewing as my flowers,
My sweeping as my children’s morning kiss.
Thou knowest that I loved man’s honesty
And all his fortitude and gallant strife
Which brought him near to Thee; the chivalry
With which Thou gird’st him for his spirit’s life,
Lest earth extinguish him. Thou knowest this,
And knowing this, perforce must know as well
That other love of which I need not tell
Since Thou Thyself hast made it what it is.’
Thus my loved earth perchance my heaven shall prove
Through grace of loving what was mine to love.