A Parable, 4

There was a man who thought to dwell alone
In a fair house. " My lady sleeps," he said,
"Resting forever in the eternal shade;
But, lo, this place which should have been her own
I still will keep as hers; let Memory moan
Through sculptured passages for sweet things fled."
Only one dwelt with him, around whose head
The aureole shone, and he for Love was known.

Then to that house, in lamentable estate,
Came wanderers, craving shelter from the cold,
And these the master pitied for their pain,
But spoilers they, whom Love at length controlled,
Scourged, and cast forth, and closed in wrath the gate,
Where now for entrance angels cry in vain.