A tired woodman is told to drop his axe and stop working. The speaker is guiding him through a gate—likely into death—with closed eyes, facing west like the setting sun. There is no panic here, only a solemn push toward rest. The voice is gentle but firm: leave the timber, go where the leaves are brown and wet, forget the mother who held you and every face you loved. That forgetting is the hardest part, but the speaker asks him to do it bravely. The mood is quiet, elegiac, and deeply tender. It feels like a goodbye spoken beside a grave or deathbed—sad but steady, urging someone who has labored long to accept peace without turning back.
Close Your Eyes! — Summary
Go through the gates with closed eyes. Stand erect and let your black face front the west. Drop the axe and leave the timber where it lies; A woodman on the hill must have his rest.
Go where leaves are lying brown and wet. Forget her warm arms and her breast who mothered you, And every face you ever loved forget. Close your eyes; walk bravely through.