Classic Poem

My soul still sitteth her room within;
She goeth not out of her door:
But she longs forever to know the world
As it passes her house before.

She may not go out. The universe knocks,
And throngs all her anterooms fill;
But the Senses Five stand ever on guard,
Admitting but whom they will.

The ear leads in the wonderful sounds
That wander her echo hall, —
The thunder, the bird-song, the wild surf-beat,
And the voices of love that call.

The eye leads in the colors that glow
In the rainbow and sunset sky;
The apple-blooms and the tinting of cheeks,
And love-looks that never die.

And the touch and taste and smell, each one
Seeks out the guests that it knows;
But only now and then one of the throng
To the high, inner chamber goes.

And so my soul sitteth her house within,
While the universe passes without;
Of the thronging shapes she catches a glimpse,
Or hears a far-echoing shout.

She waits and listens, and ever she longs
To see all things real, as they are;
But the doors of her house are thick and strong,
And fastened with life's firm bar.

She knows there are voices she never hears,
And colors she never sees;
She knows that the world has numberless doors
Of which she has not the keys.

She fears she knows nothing as it is ,
But shadows and echoes only;
So up and down through her rooms she goes,
Wistfully longing and lonely.

And she cries: " Shall I never know the world
That passes so near to my door?
Shall I never find out the things to be,
Or the things that were of yore?

" Shall I never thrust back the wards that lock
The innermost heart of things?
Shall I never break down my narrow walls
Or expand my prisoned wings?

" Perhaps — who knows? — I may fly one day,
And, alight on some fairer star,
Where shadows are only mists of the past
I may see things as they are. "