All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar; we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.
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.
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.