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Lloyd Mifflin (Ллойд Миффлин)

The Doors

AS through the Void we went I heard his plumes
Strike on the darkness. It was passing sweet
To hold his hand and feel that thin air beat
Against our pinions as we winged those glooms
Of Ebon, through which Atropos still dooms
Each soul to pass. Then presently our feet
Found footing on a ledge of dark retreat,
And opposite appeared two doors of tombs
Seen by the star upon the angel’s head
That made dim twilight; there I caught my breath:
“Why pause we here?” The angel answering said,
“The journey ends. These are the Doors of Death;
Lo, now they open, inward, for the dead.”
And then a Voice,—“Who next that entereth?” 

Lloyd Mifflin's other poems:
  1. To an Old Venetian Wine-Glass
  2. He Made the Night
  3. The Sovereigns
  4. To the Milkweed
  5. Milton

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