Now all the ways are open,
And we may ramble in;
Garden and ivory temple,
And the silken doors of sin.

No wondering by a door-step,
No latticed mystery;
No gray portcullis guarding
Dream's gold for you and me.

By the path into the forest
Where four blind windows wait,
The silence has no secret,
Down is the briared gate.

How bare the world is grown now,
Without a bar or pin!
No little doors at twilight
We may not enter in.