Poems (Kennedy)/The Open Road
THE OPEN ROAD
WE know not what it is, the whisper low That each of us must hear.We call it Death, but what is Death Behind the pall and bier?
And what is that wide open grave With all its weighting clods?Is it a door from life's wide hall That opens into God's?
We cannot tell, but this we pray Beside that close-shut door;Death must be sweet, since those who die Come back no more, no more.
Life may itself be but a sleep, A mystery supreme,And that low whisper at the end May wake us from a dream.
When my call comes I shall not need The urge of biting goad,Like pilgrim I will fare me forth— Upon Death's Open Road.