This door you might not open, and you did; 
So enter now, and see for what slight thing 
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid, 
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring 
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain 
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress, 
But only what you see... Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless. 
Yet this alone out of my life I kept 
Unto myself, lest any know me quite; 
And you did so profane me when you crept 
Unto the threshold of this room to-night 
That I must never more behold your face. 
This now is yours. I seek another place.