'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.