12 Knocking,

Waiting there ;. Open ! Open ! Once behold Him, — Him, so fair.

Ah, that door ! Why wilt Thou vex me,

Coming ever to perplex me ?

For the key is stiffly rusty,

And the bolt is clogged and dusty ;

Many-fingered ivy-vine

Seals it fast with twist and twine ;

Weeds of years and years before

Choke the passage of that door.

Knocking! knocking! What! still knocking?

He still there ? What *s the hour? The night is \yaning, — In my heart a drear complaining,

And a chilly, sad unrest ! Ah, this knocking It disturbs me, Scares my sleep with dreams unblest !