To the little gate of Valhalla the coward-spirit came.
Cold, It crouched in the man-strong wind that sweeps Valhalla’s floor;
Weak, It pawed and scratched on the wood; and howled, like a dog, at the Door
Which is shut to the souls who are sped in shame, for ever and evermore:
For It snuffed the Meat of the Banquet-boards where the Threefold Killers sit,
Where the Free Beer foams to the tankard-rim, and the Endless Smokes are lit....
And It saw the Nakéd Eye come out above the lintel-slit.
And now It quailed at Nakéd Eye which judges the naked dead;
And now It snarled at Nakéd Truth that broodeth overhead;
And now It looked to the earth below where the gun-flames flickered red.