Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921 — To a Door

Door, you stand in your darkened frame
Mindful of your wooden might,
Flaunting relentlessly your claim
As guardian of sound and light.

Yet for all your vigil, Door,
Shadows that slip on panting feet
Over your threshold tinge the floor
With what was sunlight on the street.

And sounds fluttering in to die—
(Door, you thought I should not know!)
Were started by an echo's cry
That was a voice not long ago.