Behind the Arras
As in some dim baronial hall restrained,A prisoner sits, engirt by secret doorsAnd waving tapestries that argue forthStrange passages into the outer air;So in this dimmer room which we call life,Thus sits the soul and marks with eye intentThat mystic curtain o’er the portal death;Still deeming that behind the arras liesThe lambent way that leads to lasting light.Poor fooled and foolish soul! Know now that deathIs but a blind, false door that nowhere leads,And gives no hope of exit final, free.