There was the Door to which I found no key; There was the Veil through which I might not see.

And this I know; whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite, One flash of it within the Tavern caught Better than in the temple lost outright.

A book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, A Loaf of Bread, and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- On, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to it for help--for it As impotently moves as you or I.

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev'n with Paradise devise the snake; For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blackened--Man's forgiveness give and take!

Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same door wherein I went.