When Walt Whitman Was a Parisian

--Whose steps are those? Who comes so late?
--Let me come in--the door unlock.
--'Tis midnight now--my lonely gate
I open to no stranger's knock.

Who art thou? Speak!--In me find Fame;
To immortality I lead.
--Pass, idle phantom of a name.
--Listen again, and now take heed.

'Twas false--my names are Song, Love, Art;
My poet, now unbar the door/
--Art's dead--Song cannot touch my heart,
My once Love's name I chant no more.

--Open then, now--for see, I stand,
Richesmy name, with endless gold,
Gold, and your wish in either hand.
--Too late--my youth you still withhold.

--Then, if it must be, since the door
Stands shut, my last true name to know,
Men call me Death. Delay no more;
I bring the cure of every woe.

(The door flies wide.)--Ah, guest so wan,
Forgive the poor place where I dwell,
An ice-cold hearth, a heart-sick man
Stands here to welcome thee full well.