Rupert Chawner 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.