Without the temple walls, whose cold gray stone
Mocked my endeavor, rising row on row.
I called my lady’s name, fearful and low.
No answer, save the hoot-owl’s jeering tone,
And the pale mocking moon that coldly shone.
Now, sadly round the temple walls I go,
Whose deepest mysteries I thought to know.
I thought its inmost chamber mine; fond fool,
I only stood within some vestibule,
Where all men’s feet may wander to and fro,