Rupert Brooke

Failure

Because God put His adamantine fate
   Between my sullen heart and its desire,
  I swore that I would burst the Iron Gate,
   Rise up, and curse Him on His throne of fire.
  Earth shuddered at my crown of blasphemy,
   But Love was as a flame about my feet;
   Proud up the Golden Stair I strode; and beat
  Thrice on the Gate, and entered with a cry —
 
  All the great courts were quiet in the sun,
   And full of vacant echoes:  moss had grown
  Over the glassy pavement, and begun
   To creep within the dusty council-halls.
  An idle wind blew round an empty throne
   And stirred the heavy curtains on the walls.
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