Three steps and I reach the door, But a whole month rolls between Since last I stood before My shut room’s simple scene. I pause at the door and shrink, My hand is at point to turn, But I stand and dimly think Of all I long for and yearn. My life leaps up to me there, The past with its every deed, And I tremble and hardly dare The open mystery to read. A year and a day and awhile, Ay me! there is none escape; Each thought, each dream, each smile Will front me in questioning shape. I open and see what no eyes Save mine have the power to see: Dead scenes and dead griefs arise, Dead follies make mouths at me. Yea, so: through the dark I peer, And shudder away from the door; Voices once heard I hear, Know faces seen long before.
Fate
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