And, as again he reached the spot he sought,
Truth, fame, his child, the Queen, were all as naught.
Dismounting then, he pushed afoot, between
The alder saplings, to the outer wood,
The grounds, the garden-walks, and found, unseen,
A private door, nor tarried till he stood
Within the threshold of my Lady’s room,—
A shadowed nook, all stillness and perfume.
Jasmine and briony the lattice climbed,
The rose and honeysuckle trailed above;