NOW haste thee, light thee down, thy doors unbar, Though slumber hold thine eyes, though rest thy feet; A guest draws nigh, who comes from very far, And brings thee news, yea, tidings strange and sweet. Make open, hie thee forth his steps to meet.— I will not open, I, so late, too late; I am weary. One sole guest I fain could greet, And he will ask no leave, but enter straight. Yet open swiftly, lest thou sorely rue; 'Tis verily thy own most dear Desire, For whom thou hast waited all the long days through, The slow, void days, in vain, and wouldst not tire; For whom thy heart was storm, thy brain was fire.— Alas, what sayest thou? Lo, thou couldst not take Upon thy lips a name of dole so dire, Though rifest 'twere where Hell's wild echoes wake.— And how, in sooth, thus churl-wise chide him hence, Who comes expectant of the banquet spread, And rose-coloured chalice, soul-bliss thrilled to sense, But fares a friend with foeman's welcome sped, Finding for song, a wail; for joyance, dread? Tell him: @3This house is ruin-rent and bare; Delight hath flown afar, and youth is dead, And Hope thy bride, handfasted to Despair.@1 |