door

If your Nerve, deny you –
Go above your Nerve –
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve –

That’s a steady posture –
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms –
Best Giant made –

If your Soul seesaw –
Lift the Flesh door –
The Poltroon wants Oxygen –
Nothing more –

Could I — then — shut the door –
Lest my beseeching face — at last –
Rejected — be — of Her?

Why — do they shut Me out of Heaven?
Did I sing — too loud?
But — I can say a little “Minor”
Timid as a Bird!

Wouldn’t the Angels try me –
Just — once — more –
Just — see — if I troubled them –
But don’t — shut the door!

Oh, if I — were the Gentleman
In the “White Robe” –
And they — were the little Hand — that knocked –
Could — I — forbid?

Could I — then — shut the door –
Lest my beseeching face — at last –
Rejected — be — of Her?

We don’t cry — Tim and I,
We are far too grand –
But we bolt the door tight
To prevent a friend –

Then we hide our brave face
Deep in our hand –
Not to cry — Tim and I –
We are far too grand –

Nor to dream — he and me –
Do we condescend –
We just shut our brown eye
To see to the end –

Tim — see Cottages –
But, Oh, so high!
Then — we shake — Tim and I –
And lest I — cry –

Tim — reads a little Hymn –
And we both pray –
Please, Sir, I and Tim –
Always lost the way!

We must die — by and by –
Clergymen say –
Tim — shall — if I — do –
I — too — if he –

How shall we arrange it –
Tim — was — so — shy?
Take us simultaneous — Lord –
I — “Tim” — and Me!

He was weak, and I was strong -then-
So He let me lead him in
I was weak, and He was strong then
So I let him lead me. Home.

‘Twasn’t far -the door was near-
‘Twasn’t dark -for He went- too
‘Twasn’t loud, for He said nought
That was all I cared to know.

Day knocked -and we must part-
Neither -was strongest- now
He strove -and I strove- too
We didn’t do it -tho’!

In rags mysterious as these
The shining Courtiers go –
Veiling the purple, and the plumes –
Veiling the ermine so.

Smiling, as they request an alms –
At some imposing door!
Smiling when we walk barefoot
Upon their golden floor!

Sexton! My Master’s sleeping here.
Pray lead me to his bed!
I came to build the Bird’s nest,
And sow the Early seed –

That when the snow creeps slowly
From off his chamber door –
Daisies point the way there –
And the Troubadour.