I AM the Master of the Secret Road,
Silent I stand behind the half closed door.
And you, who shrink the blind, black path before,
Though driven by the inexorable goad,
You, who have paid to Life the debt you owed,
Good coin or bad, from scant or ample store,
Poor Pilgrim, furtive-footed on my shore,
May it not be that I shall lift your load?
Then, with undaunted brow, come woo my eyes
And lay in mine nor cold, nor craven hand —
May you not thrill as one with sweet surprise
Who finds a friend beloved in alien land?
Perchance my face you thus shall recognize
And all my secrets fitly understand!