“W HO is it knocking in the night,”
—That fain would enter in?”
“The ghost of Lost Delight am I,
—The sin you would not sin,
Who comes to look in your two eyes
—And see what might have been.”

“Oh, long ago and long ago
—I cast you forth,” he said,
“For that your eyes were all too blue,
—Your laughing mouth too red,
And my torn soul was tangled in
—The tresses of your head.”

“Now mind you with what bitter words
—You cast me forth from you?”
“I bade you back to that fair Hell
—From whence your breath you drew,
And with great blows I broke my heart
—Lest it might follow too.

“Yea, from the grasp of your white hands
—I freed my hands that day,
And have I not climbed near to God
—As these His henchmen may?”
“Ah, man,—ah, man! 'twas my two hands
—That led you all the way.”

“I hid my eyes from your two eyes
—That they might see aright.”
“Yet think you 'twas a star that led
—Your feet from height to height?
It was the flame of my two eyes
—That drew you through the night.”

With trembling hands he threw the door,
—Then fell upon his knee:
“O, Vision armed and cloaked in light,
—Why do you honor me?”
“The Angel of your Strength am I
—Who was your sin,” quoth she.

“For that you slew me long ago
—My hands have raised you high;
For that mine eyes you closed, mine eyes
—Are lights to lead you by;
And 'tis my touch shall swing the gates
—Of Heaven when you die!”