This door you might not open, and you did;

So enter now, and see for what slight thing

You are betrayed … Here is no treasure hid

No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring

The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain

For greed like yours, no writhings of distress

But only what you see … Look yet again—

An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless

Yet this alone out of my life I kept

Unto myself, lest any know me quite;

And you did so profane me when you crept

Unto the threshold of this room to-night

That I must never more behold your face.

This now is yours. I seek another place.