Poems (Cromwell)/The Threshold
THE THRESHOLD
I threaded endless aisles Of level trees, of spare, Undeviating wood; I penetrated streets Of houses parallel; I crossed a common where My day paused sentinel; At evenfall I stood Before the dim defiles Of dusk, where light retreats, Immured in sombre ward. The sheathed sun went down; Opaque was heaven's frown; Mountains, looming grey, Framed the threshold—yea—The portal to the Lord.