Poems (Cromwell)/The Gates of Utterance
THE GATES OF UTTERANCE
There is a throng within the gates, A pressing, diverse throng;—Without, a peaceful throng awaits, To which I would belong.
Within the gates the varied folk Advise discordantly;—Without, the poet-crowds convoke To council harmony.
Within the gates are all the heights And depths of serried powers; But when a lyric theme invites, I reach outlying bowers
Where dwell the bards of quiet years; I join my song to theirs; My glad, unfettered spirit hears The melody it shares.