I am shut out of mine own heart

because my love is far from me,

nor in the wonders have I part

that fill its hidden empery:

the wildwood of adventurous thought

and lands of dawn my dream had won,

the riches out of Faery brought

are buried with our bridal sun.

And I am in a narrow place,

and all its little streets are cold,

because the absence of her face

has robb’d the sullen air of gold.

My home is in a broader day:

at times I catch it glistening

thro’ the dull gate, a flower’d play

and odour of undying spring:

the long days that I lived alone,

sweet madness of the springs I miss’d,

are shed beyond, and thro’ them blown

clear laughter, and my lips are kiss’d:

— and here, from mine own joy apart,

I wait the turning of the key:—

I am shut out of mine own heart

because my love is far from me.