His heart to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and shining towers; <br />I saw it then as we see things in dreams,--I do not remember how long I slept; <br />I remember the tress, and the high, white walls, and how the sun was always on the <br />towers; <br />The walls are standing to-day, and the gates; I have been through the gates, I have <br />groped, I have crept <br />Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they are empty; darkness is over <br />them; <br />His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great winds and the heavenly <br />rain, unclean and unswept, <br />Like the heart of the holy city, old blind, beautiful Jerusalem; <br />Over which Christ wept<br /><br />Charlotte Mary Mew<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-have-been-through-the-gates/
