The Door of Death is made of Gold, That Mortal Eyes cannot behold; But, when the Mortal Eyes are clos'd, And cold and pale the Limbs repos'd, The Soul awakes; and, wond'ring, sees In her mild Hand the golden Keys: The Grave is Heaven's golden Gate, And rich and poor around it wait; O Shepherdess of England's Fold, Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold! To dedicate to England's Queen The Visions that my Soul has seen, And, by Her kind permission, bring What I have borne on solemn Wing, From the vast regions of the Grave, Before Her Throne my Wings I wave; Bowing before my Sov'reign's Feet, "The Grave produc'd these Blossoms sweet "In mild repose from Earthly strife; "The Blossoms of Eternal Life!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT MAGNOLIA CEMETERY by HENRY TIMROD THE LEPER (2) by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS AN EASTER OFFERING by NANCY A. BASTON THE OLD KIRK YARD by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY IN IMITATION OF HORACE by APHRA BEHN HUNTING: OPENING by JULIANA BERNERS TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. OF THE LOVE THAT YOU POURED FORTH by EDWARD CARPENTER |