That opens to only you three;

Though many have tried to unfasten the door,

They picked at the lock till their fingers were sore,

For to file it apart

Vainly proved every art,

And in vain have they sought for the key.

Many times I go into this quaint little room,

The pictures to change or adjust;

I see your sweet faces grouped there with my own,

And I wonder that I feel so strangely alone;

But about through the room

I move briskly the broom,

And sweep from the corners the dust.

The windows I throw open wide to the air

To let in the breeze and the light;

I watch the sunbeams in their mischievous way

Creep into the curtains, like children at play,

And while I am there

I have no thought of care,

And oft I look up from the balcony’s brink

To a sky that shows many a hue;

A vine clambers thickly the window above,

Where my birds sing together their rhythm of love;

My thoughts with them link

For I sit here and think

And all of my song is for you.

Ah! some day I know you will come back to me

To rest in this queer little room;

And that’s why so tidy and clean it is kept,

The air always fragrant, the floor always swept,

For I long here to see

My sweet roses three,

As from buds into blossoms they bloom.

Then come when you may, be the sky black or blue,

The lock will unclasp as of yore;

For (unless Death should come introspecting my heart,

And break down its barriers and wrench them apart),

A friend that is true

Will be watching for you,

Ever waiting to unbar the door.