THE GATE OF THE SANCTUARY. 
69 
Seven days a corpse lay desolate—at last 
Back drew the spirit and the soul aghast 
To animate that clay—O horrible ! 
The resurrection pang is hardly past. 
 
Yet in awhile I stumbled to my feet 
To flee—no nightmare could be worse to meet. 
And, spite of that, I knew some deadlier trap 
Some worm more poisonous would set—mayhap ! 
I turned—the path ?  My horror was complete— 
A flaming sword across the earthquake gap. 
 
I cried aloud to God in my despair. 
“ The quest of quests !  I seek it, for I dare ! 
Moonward !  on, moonward ! ”  And the full moon shone, 
A glory for God’s eyes to dwell upon, 
A path of silver furrowed in the air, 
A gateway where an angel might have gone. 
 
And forward gleamed a narrow way of earth 
Crusted with salt :  I watch the fairy birth 
Of countless flashes on the crystal flakes, 
Forgetting it is only death that makes 
Its home the centre of that starry girth. 
Yet, what is life ?  The manhood in me wakes. 
 
The absolute desire hath hold of me. 
Death were most welcome in that solemn sea ; 
So bitter is my life.  But carelessness 
Of life and death and love is on me—yes !