'Who knocks? ' 'I, who was beautiful Beyond all dreams to restore,
I from the roots of the dark thorn am hither,
And knock on the door.' 'Who speaks? ' 'I -- once was my speech Sweet as the bird's on the air,
When echo lurks by the waters to heed; 'Tis I speak thee fair.' 'Dark is the hour!' 'Aye, and cold.' 'Lone is my house.' 'Ah, but mine? ' 'Sight, touch, lips, eyes gleamed in vain.' 'Long dead these to thine.' Silence.
Still faint on the porch Brake the flames of the stars.
In gloom groped a hope-wearied hand Over keys, bolts, and bars.
A face peered.
All the grey night In chaos of vacancy shone;
Nought but vast sorrow was there -- The sweet cheat gone.
