The castle gate stands open now, And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 335 As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough; No longer scowl the turrets tall, The Summer's long siege at last is o'er; When the first poor outcast went in at the door, She entered with him in disguise, 340 And mastered the fortress by surprise; There is no spot she loves so well on ground, She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land Has hall and bower at his command; 345 And there's no poor man in the North Countree But is lord of the earldom as much as he. THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS There came a youth upon the earth, Some thousand years ago, Whose slender hands were nothing worth, Whether to plow, or reap, or sow. He made a lyre, and drew therefrom 5 Music so strange and rich, That all men loved to hear,--and some Muttered of fagots for a witch. But King Admetus, one who had Pure taste by right divine, 10 Decreed his singing not too bad To hear between the cups of wine. And so, well pleased with being soothed Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothed. 15 And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. His words were simple words enough, And yet he used them so, That what in other mouths were rough In his seemed musical and low. 20 Men called him but a shiftless youth, In whom no good they saw; And yet, unwittingly, in truth, They made his careless words their law. They knew not how he learned at all, 25 For, long hour after hour, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower. It seemed the loveliness of things Did teach him all their use, 30 For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, He found a healing power profuse. Men granted that his speech was wise, But, when a glance they caught Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, 35 They laughed, and called him good-for-naught. Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. 40 And day by day more holy grew Each spot where he had trod, Till after-poets only knew Their first-born brother as a god. AN INCIDENT IN A RAILROAD CAR He spoke of Burns: men rude and rough Pressed round to hear the praise of one Whose heart was made of manly, simple, stuff, As homespun as their own. And, when he read, they forward leaned, 5 Drinking, with eager hearts and ears, His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned From humble smiles and tears.