THE OPEN GATE.
111
When in there trooped a careless, motley throng,
With curious glances hurrying along.
Some stayed to question and to criticize,
But scarcely heard or heeded my replies;
Some looked about with cold, contemptuous gaze,
And some were loud and voluble in praise.
And so they came and went, but since that hour
There has not bloomed for me one little flower.
