THE STUDENT. 
 
THERE is a gate of brass, within whose clang 
Gold and fair stones abide.  But I essayed 
The path.  I thundered with assaulting blade 
On that grim fortress, whose hard iron rang 
At my strong summons.  As their fury sprang 
Open at last I crossed their threshold, prayed 
Reward for courage.  To my soul dismayed 
These voices their loud chant of terror sang : 
 
“ Thou hast not kept thy trust.  To storm the 
gates 
Were to have found out God and all delight, 
Conquered for all thy fellow-men the fates, 
And found out Paradise in Hell’s despite.” 
I heard them laugh, the Harpies and the Hates . . . 
Then fell, like death, the intolerable night. 
 
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