Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/113



HO knocks at the door so late, so late—

Who knocks so late at the door?

Is it one who comes as a stranger comes,

Or one who has knocked before?

Is it one who stays with intent to bless,

Or one who stands to implore?

My days have been as the years, she said,

And my heart, my heart is sore;

Love looked in my face for a moment's space

One happy spring of yore—

Looked in my face with a wistful grace;

And left me to grieve evermore!

Through all the days the door stood wide,

For hope had breathed a vow

That love should ne'er be kept outside.