The Gateway:

Alec Derwent Hope

Now the heart sings with all its thousand voices

To hear this city of cells, my body, sing.

The tree through the stiff clay at long last forces

Its thin strong roots and taps the secret spring.

And the sweet waters without intermission

Climb to the tips of its green tenement;

The breasts have borne the grace of their possession,

The lips have felt the pressure of content.

Here I come home: in this expected country

They know my name and speak it with delight.

I am the dream and you my gates of entry,

The means by which I waken into light.