Poetry Archives

Because God put His adamantine fate
 Between my sullen heart and its desire,
I swore that I would burst the Iron Gate,
 Rise up, and curse Him on His throne of fire.
Earth shuddered at my crown of blasphemy,
 But Love was as a flame about my feet;
 Proud up the Golden Stair I strode; and beat
Thrice on the Gate, and entered with a cry—

All the great courts were quiet in the sun,
 And full of vacant echoes:  moss had grown
Over the glassy pavement, and begun
 To creep within the dusty council-halls.
An idle wind blew round an empty throne
 And stirred the heavy curtains on the walls.