O' the mourners—one hand pointing out their path
With the long pale terrific sword we saw.
The other leading, with grim tender grace,
Alkestis quieted and consecrate,—
Lo, life again knocked laughing at the door!
The world goes on, goes ever, in and through,
And out again o' the cloud. We faced about.
Fronted the palace where the mid-hall gate
Opened—not half, nor half of half, perhaps—
Yet wide enough to let out light and life,