A Persian Apologue

Love came to crave sweet love, if love might be;
To the Beloved's door he came, and knocked: —
'And who art thou?' she asked, — 'we know not thee!'
Then shyly listened, nor the door unlocked.
Love answered, 'It is I!' 'Nay, thee and me
This house will never hold.' — 'Twas thus she mocked
His piteous quest; and, weeping, home went he,
While thro' the night the moaning plane-tree rocked.

Three seasons sped, and lo, again Love came;
Again he knocked; again in simple wise,
'Pray, who is there?' she asked, — 'What is thy name?'
But Love had learnt the magic of replies, —
'It is Thyself!' he whispered, and behold,
The door was opened, and love's mystery told.