A night wind-swept and bound about with glee Of Erebus; all light and cheer within; White restless hands that falter, then begin To weave a music-voiced fantasy.
And life, and death, and love, and weariness, And unrequital, thrid the maze of sound; And one voice saith, “Behold, the lost is found!” And saith not any more for joyfulness.
Out of the night there comes a wanderer, Who waits upon the threshold, and is still; And listens, and bows down his head, until
His grief-drawn breath startles the heart of her. The victor vanquished, at her feet he fell, A prisoner in his conquered citadel.