I knocked upon thy door ajar, While yet the woods with buds were grey; Nought but a little child I heard Warbling at break of day. I knocked when June had lured her rose To mask the sharpness of its thorn; Knocked yet again, heard only yet Thee singing of the morn. The frail convolvulus had wreathed Its cup, but the faint flush of eve Lingered upon thy Western wall; Thou hadst no word to give. Once yet I came; the winter stars Above thy house wheeled wildly bright; Footsore I stood before thy door -- Wide open into night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAND OF DREAMS by WILLIAM BLAKE THE STATUE AND THE BUST by ROBERT BROWNING THE SHADES OF NIGHT by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK by WALT WHITMAN PALINODE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SESTET SENT TO A FRIEND WITH A VOLUME OF TENNYSON by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 4. AUSTIN DOBSON by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER TO RALPH LEYCESTER, ESQ., IN ANSWER TO A LETTER by JOHN BYROM |