Classic Poem

Death, keeper of Time's portal,
Warder of the cloudy gate which is
Doorway to Eternity;
The slow-turning ages are its hinges;
The perfect portal to the path endless,
Through which comes the Future,
Bearing on her strong right arm a baby, laughing.
Death, master of the gateway,
Benevolent Death; chaste; just; not to be feared;
Keeper of the Hall of Immortality;
Whomsoever he leads into the Garden
Wanders not abroad any more.
His daughter is Memory,
Guardian of the Chamber of Sacred Silence
Where no air from the world stirs;
Nor is any change.
Life is a look into a beautiful valley
Through a narrow casement;
Then Death, like a kindly seneschal,
Closes the window.
Death ever present, ever feared; never accepted;
Terminator of joys and separator of companions.
If Life be lived without reserve or denial,
Then Death is the perfection of Life,
And Life the perfection of Death:
A friend who leads us to rest,
As at evening a child is called home
By its mother to a dreamless sleep.
O, who should fear an unmolested sleep,
Where the wind runs through the grass,
And the flowers softly bow their heads
In melancholy contemplation of their own loveliness?
Shall I understand that the Sun must die,
Yet speak of immortality?
Nevertheless, Man has his immortality,
As the seed of grass has an immortality.
If you would but let her, how tenderly
Would Nature withdraw each one of you
Toward her Chamber of Silence.

Death, universal and impenetrable terror,
Beautiful as Birth:
Awful majesty.
I await you. I salute you.
Your face is inscrutable,
But you are a goodly messenger,
Inseparable part of the harmony.
I know you hold open the portal
And through you, O, inexorable and compelling one,
I, too, shall salute the Future.