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...MY MOTHER LEFT ME by KAREN SWENSON A WINTER NIGHT by SARA TEASDALE ASOLANDO: SUMMUM BONUM by ROBERT BROWNING AN INVITE TO ETERNITY by JOHN CLARE THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 71. THE CHOICE (1) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |