Death is only an old door Set in a garden wall; On quiet hinges it gives, at dusk When the thrushes call. Along the lintel are green leaves, Beyond, the light lies still; Very weary and willing feet Go over that sill. There is nothing to trouble any heart; Nothing to hurt at all. Death is only an old door In a garden wall.
Death is only an old door/Set in a garden wall.
Oh, heart, let’s never grow too old To smile anew, when Christmas comes, At tassels red and tinsel thread, And tarlatan bags f sugarplums.
Under our thatch, friend, place shall abide for you, touch but the latch, friend, the door will swing wide for you!
The Bookshop has a thousand books,
All colors, hues, and tinges,
And every cover is a door
That turns on magic hinges.
Easter’s nearly here, now –
Sing, world, sing!
