Whym Chow: Flame of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

When at the Door of Death,
The white door with the knocker of coiled snakes,
Shall I not cease even from my struggling breath,
Will not my voice stand by my heart that quakes,
And call, as life heaves from its mould to dust,
Call, call for thee: but listen dumb
If there is breeze of little breath up-thrust
Against the other side, or happy thrum
Of little feet upon the inner floor?
If I but hear those sounds, the bar is gone,
As if a lava-stream had split the wall;
No more the serpents and the portal wan,
A momentary blaze, then blotted out:
Death never more in front of me at all—
No knocking at the lintel echoes flout!
But thou, thou, my bright Flame, my welcome-home,
My joy's first touch...in front even of those forms
That I am rent through Death to reach. O thou,
My foremost, and my certainty love warms
The spaces of this space where spirits roam!
Close, close to me, my Chow,
My little Chow—for what hath been is passed,
We dancing glad...Those others come too fast.