C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

At the Church Gate

ALTHOUGH I enter not,

Yet round about the spot

Ofttimes I hover:

And near the sacred gate

With longing eyes I wait,

Expectant of her.

The minster bell tolls out

Above the city’s rout,

And noise and humming:

They’ve hushed the minster bell;

The organ ’gins to swell:

She’s coming, she’s coming!

My lady comes at last,

Timid, and stepping fast,

And hastening hither,

With modest eyes downcast;

She comes—she’s here—she’s past—

May heaven go with her!

Kneel undisturbed, fair saint!

Pour out your praise or plaint

Meekly and duly:

I will not enter there,

To sully your pure prayer

With thoughts unruly.

But suffer me to pace

Round the forbidden place,

Lingering a minute,

Like outcast spirits who wait

And see through heaven’s gate

Angels within it.