At eventide the Pilgrim came
And knocked at the Belovéd’s door.
“Whose there!” a voice within, “Thy name?”
“ ’T is I,” he said.—“Then knock no more.
As well ask thou a lodging of the sea—
There is no room herein for thee and me.”
The Pilgrim went again his way
And dwelt with Love upon the shore
Of self-oblivion; and one day
He knocked again at the Belovéd’s door.
“Whose there?”—“It is thyself,” he now replied,
And suddenly the door was opened wide.