| GO to the western gate, Luke Havergal, | |
| There where the vines cling crimson on the wall, | |
| And in the twilight wait for what will come. | |
| The leaves will whisper there of her, and some, | |
| Like flying words, will strike you as they fall; | 5 |
| But go, and if you listen she will call. | |
| Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal— | |
| Luke Havergal. | |
| |
| No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies | |
| To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes; | 10 |
| But there, where western glooms are gathering, | |
| The dark will end the dark, if anything: | |
| God slays Himself with every leaf that flies, | |
| And hell is more than half of paradise. | |
| No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies— | 15 |
| In eastern skies. | |
| |
| Out of a grave I come to tell you this, | |
| Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss | |
| That flames upon your forehead with a glow | |
| That blinds you to the way that you must go. | 20 |
| Yes, there is yet one way to where she is, | |
| Bitter, but one that faith may never miss. | |
| Out of a grave I come to tell you this— | |
| To tell you this. | |
| |
| There is the western gate, Luke Havergal, | 25 |
| There are the crimson leaves upon the wall. | |
| Go, for the winds are tearing them away,— | |
| Nor think to riddle the dead words they say, | |
| Nor any more to feel them as they fall; | |
| But go, and if you trust her she will call. | 30 |
| There is the western gate, Luke Havergal— | |
| Luke Havergal. | |
