Who knocks?' 'I, who was beautiful, Beyond all dreams to restore, I from the roots of the dark thorn am hither, And knock on the door.
We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.
Is anybody there? said the Traveler, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor.
Three jolly huntsmen, In coats of red, Rode their horses Up to bed.