It was so cold without: the wind and rain
Buffeted me, and made me sick and sore,
And no birds sang, and night came on, and o’er
The surging wind rose pitiful sad cries
From all the souls cast out of Paradise ...
On the closed door I knocked and knocked again
Till I grew tired with bitterness and pain.
I made no fine resolve, I shed no tear:
I knew that God was good, that she was dear,
Only I wondered why these things had been,