  They stirred the carven agate door Back from the cloisters, where of yore One toiled by night, and toiling, kept The starlight on his bended head: “O enter with us, straight and free, The master’s place of mystery; Had he not gone beyond the sea, He would have bid us come,” they said. But from the threshold hushed and gray The loiterer turned, and made his way From arch to arch, and answered low, “What he once promised to unfold, Without him, how shall I behold? O enter you whose hearts are bold; My heart hath failed me here,” he said. Thou dead magician, be it so! I close thy pages, and forego The beauty other men may scan With much of awe and tenderness; And if this blessing half-divine, With gracious sorrow I resign To faith that firmer is than mine, Thou knowest if I love thee less! FOOTNOTE: |
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