George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
The FutureEdward Rowland Sill (1841–1887)
W
That marble door
Admits no fruit of all our long endeavor,
No fame-wreathed crown we wore,
No garnered lore.
No gold, no gains
Of all our toiling: in the life immortal
No hoarded wealth remains,
No gilds, nor stains.
We entered here:
No word came with our coming, to remind us
What wondrous world was near,
No hope, no fear.
Naked we glide:
No hand has mapped the constellations o’er us,
No comrade at our side,
No chart, no guide.
Our footsteps fare:
The beckoning of a Father’s hand we follow—
His love alone is there,
No curse, no care.