He would have bid us come,” they said.
But from the threshold hushed and gray
The loiterer turned, and made his way
From arch to arch, and answered low,
Pale with some ever-deepening dread:
“What he once promised to unfold,
Without him, how shall I behold?
O enter you whose hearts are bold;
My heart hath failed me here,” he said.
Thou dead magician, be it so!