DEDICATION
OF BLAIR'S POEM OF THE GRAVE TO
THE QUEEN. (1808.)[1]
THE door of Death is made of gold
That mortal eyes cannot behold;
But when the mortal eyes are closed,
And cold and pale the limbs reposed,
The soul awakes and, wondering, sees
In her mild hand the golden keys:
The grave is heaven's golden gate,
And rich and poor around it wait.
Oh! shepherdess of England's fold,
Behold this gate of pearl and gold!
To dedicate to England's Queen
The visions that my soul has seen,
And by her kind permission bring
What I have borne on silken wing
From the vast region of the grave,
Before her throne my wings I wave;
Bowing before my sovereign's feet.
The grave produced these blossoms sweet,
In mild repose from earthly strife—
The blossoms of Eternal Life!
- ↑ An edition illustrated with designs by Blake.—Ed.
