Not through this Door

Not through this door of elemental calm,
Patient, wet woodland, resting after rain,
Brooding brown fields that wait the sleeping grain--
Not through this door may the wrecked spirit's balm--
Come in and take possession. There's a psalm
Nature has crooned to weariness and pain,
Easing the tumult of the world-worn brain,
Sweet, wholesome mother of the open palm.

But the disastrous heart cries out for men,
Strife where the fight is reddest. Verily
Peace comes with fighting with the strength of ten,
Here where the world is young, with naught to see.
But day blow out across the long, low sky--
Peace means an emptiness, which rests to die.