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THE exceeding weight of glory bowed
My head, in that pure clime:
I found a road that ran through cloud
Along the coasts of Time....
Out of that mist of years there came
A cross-barred gate of wood.
I clutched, I kissed the unheavenly frame
So hard, it trickled blood.
My head upon the iron lay.
I slobbered blood and foam.
Yea, like a dog, I knew the way,
A hundred yards from home.
Iron and blood and wood! They knew
The secret of that cry
When the Eternal Passion drew
Their Maker through—to die.
I knew each little hawthorn-cloud
Along my misty lane,
Then my heart burst. She sobbed aloud,
Between my arms again.
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