Poetry Archives

The Wide Door into Sorrow
Stands open night and day.
With head held high and dancing feet
I pass it on my way.

I never tread within it,
I never turn to see
The Wide Door into Sorrow.
It cannot frighten me.

The Narrow Doors to Sorrow
Are secret, still, and low:
Swift tongues of dusk that spoil the sun
Before I even know.

My dancing feet are frozen.
I stare.  I can but see.
The Narrow Doors to Sorrow
They stop the heart in me.

—Oh, stranger than my midnights
Of loneliness and strife
The Doors that let the dark leap in
Across my sunny life!