The Gate-Keeper Poem by Nora Jane Hopper Chesson

Rough gown, stuff gown, my love hath noble raiment,
Silk robes and scarlet robes, pearls of great price:
If a man kiss her gown, death is his payment-

'Nay: but I keep the gates of Paradise.'

Chained hand, stained hand, my love has fingers whiter
Than any lily that rocks upon the lake:
If a man kiss her hand death falls the lighter-

'She sends thee sleeping fast? I bid thee wake.'

Bare head, fair head, my love's head on her pillow
Black as a bird's wing lies, circled with gold:
If a man touch it, he swings from a willow-

'Doth her love burn thee so? My breast is cold.'

Torn wings, shorn wings, my love goeth wingless:
She is wind and water, fire that upward springs.
Ere I died praising her I left my harp all stringless.

'From my stripped pinions my children make them wings.'

Grave eyes, brave eyes, wert thou fain to bear them?
Once my love in childbed lay, and cried for pain.
I, too, bore dreams with tears, and the four winds tare them.

'My children are thy dreams warm with life again.'

End me or mend me: heavy is my burden!
Years ago we died, and I claim her sins for mine.
So she walks heaven's paths hell shall be my guerdon-

'I who ope the gate to thee was once that love of thine.'