The Key

A stranger came out of the west,
And there swung at his belt a key.
"It will open some door in the world," he said.
"It must," said he.

"A mort of days have I traveled,
And even my soul is sore,
But nobody'd mould a key, surely,
That hadn't a door?"

"Mayhap it's a door of gold,
With a king's palace beyond,
And water-lilies and white birds
On a beautiful pond."

"Or mayhap the door to a wood,
To some wild, lonely place
Where you'd hear Pan piping at dawn — who knows?
Even glimpse his face."

"Who knows? — Oh, I've journeyed far,
I've known strange isles of the sea;
But nobody'd build a lock, surely,
That hadn't a key?"

"Ah, times I have wished it might fit
In a little house among the hills;
With the rooks flying above, and a plough,
And daffodils."

The stranger shouldered his pack,
And the key glittered and shone.
"There must be a door for it somewhere," he said,
As he wandered on.