MEMORIAL THRESHOLDS

What place so strange,— though unrevealed snow

With unimaginable fires arise

At the earth's end,— what passion of surprise

Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago?

Lo! this is none but I this hour; and lo!

This is the very place which to mine eyes

Those mortal hours in vain immortalize,

‘ Mid hurrying crowds, with what alone I know.

City, of thine a single simple door,

By some new Power reduplicate, must be

Even yet my life-porch in eternity,

Even with one presence filled, as once of yore

Or mocking winds whirl round a chaff-strown floor

Thee and thy years and these my words and me.