A gate whose whirling swords have lightning’s powers
To blast and burn flash outward with such might
The black and barren road is bleached to bright
That leads down, downward, where the darkness cowers.
Come, Sweet, lift up your eyes! Be not afraid.
Behold!—within that pit a giant rose,
Its million, million petals, hearts of those
Who sinned this sin of ours all undismayed,
So rich, colossal, glorious and fair
It dims the white sword-whirl of judgment there!