ONE comes with foot insistent to my door,
Calling my name;
Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before,
Yet clear the calling sounds and o'er and o'er —
It seems the sunlight burns along the floor
With paler flame!
“‘ Tis vain to call with morning on the wing,
With noon so near,
With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring
And Youth new wedded with a golden ring —
When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing
My heart may hear!
“‘ Tis vain to pause. Pass, friend, upon your way!
I may not heed;
Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day:
Only one life, one spring, one perfect May —
I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay
Life's joyous greed!
“Call not again! The wind is roaming by
Across the heath —
The Wind's a tell-tale and will bear your sigh
To dim the smiling gladness of the sky
Or kill the spring's first violets that lie
In purple sheath —
“If you must call, call low! My heart grows still,
Still as my breath,
Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill
Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill —
I know you now — I follow where you will,
O tyrant Death!”