Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917.
Nora May French
The Outer Gate
L
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 bear thee, faint and woefully,
Call on me from the darkness and implore?”
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.