Arbor Vitae

Beside the golden gate there grows a tree Whose heavy fruit gives entrance to the ways Of Wonder, and the leaves thereof are days Of desolation—nights of agony The buds and blossom for the fruits to be: Rooted in terror the dead trunk decays, The burdened branches drooping to the clays Clammy with blood of crushed humanity. But lo the fruit! Sweet-bitter, red and white, Better than wine—better than timely death When surfeited with sorrow—Lo the bright Mansions beyond the gate! And Love, thy breath Fanning our flaming hearts where entereth Thy Song of Songs with Love’s tumultuous light.