201. A Persian Apologue

LOVE came to crave sweet love, if love might be;

To the Belovëd’s door he came, and knocked:—

‘And who art thou?’ she asked,—‘we know not thee!’

Then shyly listened, nor the door unlocked.

Love answered, ‘It is I!’ ‘Nay, thee and me

This house will never hold.’—’Twas thus she mocked

His piteous quest; and, weeping, home went he,

While thro’ the night the moaning plane-tree rocked.

Three seasons sped, and lo, again Love came;

Again he knocked; again in simple wise,

‘Pray, who is there?’ she asked,—‘What is thy name?’

But Love had learnt the magic of replies,—

‘It is Thyself!’ he whispered, and behold,

The door was opened, and love’s mystery told.