Our steam ship docked at night
In Cobh, an Irish seaport
A small one in those days

Not an inn, not a tavern was open 
And we had to wait till morning 
For the train to Fermoy

But in the wooded hills 
Up above the town 
Nightingales were awake 
All the dark thickets 
Were rich with their songs 

It was in those words 
And on that night 
I dreamed that I found the door 
Of all doors the most hidden 
And most renowned

Overgrown with nettles 
Rustic and low 
Built as if for children 
Or as a gate for sheep 
In some back-country pasture 

And through a chink in the door 
I saw the marvelous light 
That’s purest of all lights
Neither sun nor moon
Nor any star I know of 
Could give such light 

And by this light
I saw the crowds of the blessed
From the greatest to the smallest 
The smallest were running and laughing
And Christ the Lord was with them
And also Mary 

But before I could knock at the door 
Someone spoke to me
I think it was an angel 

He said You’ve come too soon
Go back into the towns 
Live there as love’s apprentice
And God will give you his kingdom

I woke up just before sunrise 
When the nightingales ended their songs 
Dew gathered on the ferns
And the cool woods 
Gave off a scent of earth 
In the early morning 

I was hungry and cold 
And I started back to town 
At the first signs of day 

Already a sunlit smoke 
Was rising from the chimneys 
And mist from the water

I heard a rooster crowing
And then I heard the whistle 
Of the train to Fermoy. 

Anne Porter (1911–2011) was a longtime contributor to Commonweal, and the author of Living Things: Collected Poems (2006) and An Altogether Different Language (1994), which was nominated for a National Book Award.

Also by this author
Published in the October 24, 1986 issue: View Contents