Think not, because I wonder where you fled, That I would lift a pin to see you there; You may, for me, be prowling anywhere, So long as you show not your little head: No dark and evil story of the dead Would leave you less pernicious or less fair-- Not even Lilith, with her famous hair; And Lilith was the devil, I have read. I cannot hate you, for I loved you then. The woods were golden then. There was a road Through beeches; and I said their smooth feet showed Like yours. Truth must have heard me from afar, For I shall never have to learn again That yours are cloven as no beech's are. The Voice of Age She'd look upon us, if she could, As hard as Rhadamanthus would; Yet one may see,--who sees her face, Her crown of silver and of lace, Her mystical serene address Of age alloyed with loveliness,-- That she would not annihilate The frailest of things animate. She has opinions of our ways, And if we're not all mad, she says,-- If our ways are not wholly worse Than others, for not being hers,-- There might somehow be found a few Less insane things for us to do, And we might have a little heed Of what Belshazzar couldn't read. She feels, with all our furniture, Room yet for something more secure Than our self-kindled aureoles To guide our poor forgotten souls; But when we have explained that grace Dwells now in doing for the race, She nods--as if she were relieved; Almost as if she were deceived. She frowns at much of what she hears, And shakes her head, and has her fears; Though none may know, by any chance, What rose-leaf ashes of romance Are faintly stirred by later days That would be well enough, she says, If only people were more wise, And grown-up children used their eyes. The Dark House Where a faint light shines alone, Dwells a Demon I have known. Most of you had better say "The Dark House", and go your way. Do not wonder if I stay. For I know the Demon's eyes, And their lure that never dies. Banish all your fond alarms, For I know the foiling charms Of her eyes and of her arms, And I know that in one room Burns a lamp as in a tomb; And I see the shadow glide, Back and forth, of one denied Power to find himself outside. There he is who is my friend, Damned, he fancies, to the end-- Vanquished, ever since a door Closed, he thought, for evermore On the life that was before. And the friend who knows him best Sees him as he sees the rest Who are striving to be wise While a Demon's arms and eyes Hold them as a web would flies.