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by Rupert Brooke, 1916

Because God put His adamantine fate	
  Between my sullen heart and its desire,	
I swore that I would burst the Iron Gate,	
  Rise up, and curse Him on His throne of fire.	
Earth shuddered at my crown of blasphemy,
  But Love was as a flame about my feet;	
  Proud up the Golden Stair I strode; and beat	
Thrice on the Gate, and entered with a cry—	
All the great courts were quiet in the sun,	
  And full of vacant echoes: moss had grown
Over the glassy pavement, and begun	
  To creep within the dusty council-halls.	
An idle wind blew round an empty throne	
  And stirred the heavy curtains on the walls.	

Published in The Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke

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