Nora May French: The Outer Gate
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The Outer Gate

1881-1907


Life said: "My house is thine with all its store:
         Behold I open shining ways to thee --
         Of every inner portal make thee free:
O child, I may not bar the outer door.
Go from me if thou wilt, to come no more;
         But all thy pain is mine, thy flesh of me;
         And must I hear thee, faint and woefully,
Call on me from the darkness and implore?"

Nay, mother, for I follow at thy will.
         But oftentimes thy voice is sharp to hear,
         Thy trailing fragrance heavy on the breath;
Always the outer hall is very still,
         And on my face a pleasant wind and clear
         Blows straitly from the narrow gate of Death.


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DayPoems Poem No. 1249



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