II
I have a room whereinto no one entersSave I myself alone:There sits a blessed memory on a throne,There my life centres.
While winter comes and goes—oh tedious comer!—And while its nip-wind blows;While bloom the bloodless lily and warm roseOf lavish summer.
If any should force entrance he might see thereOne buried yet not dead, 30Before whose face I no more bow my headOr bend my knee there;
But often in my worn life’s autumn weatherI watch there with clear eyes,And think how it will be in ParadiseWhen we’re together.