XIX.
All hail to thee, thou fairest
And most mysterious town!
That once inclosed my dearest
Within thy gateways brown.
Speak out, ye towers and portals!
My sweetheart, where is she?
I left her in your keeping;
Ye should my warders be.
The towers are not guilty,
For rooted fast were they.
When sweetheart, with trunks and luggage,
So quickly stole away.
The gates gave willing passage,
With noiseless bars and locks.
A door will always open,
When the adorer knocks.