through the strait gate of passion,

between the bickering fire

where flames of fierce love tremble

on the body of fierce desire:

to the intoxication,

the mind, fused down like a bead,

flees in its agitation

the flames' stiff speed:

at last to calm incandescence,

burned clean by remorseless hate,

now, at the day's renascence

we approach the gate.

now, from the darkened spaces

of fear, and of frightened faces,

death, in our awful embraces

approached and passed by;

we near the flame-burnt porches

where the brands of the angels, like torches

whirl,—in these perilous marches

pausing to sigh;

we look back on the withering roses,

the stars, in their sun-dimmed closes,

where 'twas given us to repose us

sure on our sanctity;

beautiful, candid lovers,

burnt out of our earthy covers,

we might have nestled like plovers

in the fields of eternity.

there, sure in sinless being,

all-seen, and then all-seeing,

in us life unto death agreeing,

we might have lain.

but we storm the angel-guarded

gates of the long-discarded,

garden, which god has hoarded

against our pain.

the lord of hosts, and the devil

are left on eternity's level

field, and as victors we travel

to eden home.

back beyond good and evil

return we. eve dishevel

your hair for the bliss-drenched revel

on our primal loam.