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 door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing You are betrayed. … Here is no treasure hid, No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain For greed like yours, no writhings of distress, But only what you see. . . . Look yet again— An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless. Yet this alorne out of my life I kept Unto myself, lest any know me quite; And you did so profane me when you crept Unto the threshold of this room to-night That I must never more behold your face. This now is yours. I seek another place.