Although I enter not, <br />Yet round about the spot, <br />Ofttimes I hover, <br />And near the sacred gate, <br />With longing eyes I wait, <br />Expectant of her. <br /> <br />The minster-bell tolls out <br />Above the city's rout, <br />And noise and humming; <br />They've hushed the minster-bell, <br />The organ 'gins to swell, -- <br />She's coming, -- coming! <br /> <br />My lady comes at last, <br />Timid and stepping fast, <br />And hastening hither, <br />With modest eyes downcast; <br />She comes, -- she's here, -- she's past; <br />May heaven go with her! <br /> <br />Kneel undisturbed, fair saint, <br />Pour out your praise or plaint <br />Meekly and duly; <br />I will not enter there, <br />To sully your pure prayer, <br />With thoughts unruly. <br /> <br />But suffer me to pace <br />Round the forbidden place, <br />Lingering a minute, <br />Like outcast spirits who wait, <br />And see, through heaven's gate, <br />Angels within it.<br /><br />William Makepeace Thackeray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-the-church-gate/
