Normale Version: Thoughts
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The morning brought a stranger to my door,
I know not whence such feet as his may stray,
From what still heights, along what star-set way,
A child he seemed, yet my eyes fell before
His eyes Olympian. I did implore
Him enter, linger but one golden day
To bless my house. He passed, he might not stay,
And though I call with tears, he comes no more.
At noon there stole a beggar to my gate,
Of subtle tongue, the porter he beguiled.
His creeping, evil steps my house defiled.
I flung him scornful alms, I bade him straight
To leave me. Swift he clutched my fee and smiled,
Yet went not forth, nor goes, despite my hate.