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A Hall

Written by: Czeslaw Milosz | Biography
 The road led straight to the temple.
Notre Dame, though not Gothic at all.
The huge doors were closed.
I chose one on the side, Not to the main building-to its left wing, The one in green copper, worn into gaps below.
I pushed.
Then it was revealed: An astonishing large hall, in warm light.
Great statues of sitting women-goddesses, In draped robes, marked it with a rhythm.
Color embraced me like the interior of a purple-brown flower Of unheard-of size.
I walked, liberated From worries, pangs of conscience, and fears.
I knew I was there as one day I would be.
I woke up serene, thinking that this dream Answers my question, often asked: How is it when one passes the last threshold?



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