She beats upon her bolted door,

With faint weak hands;

Drearily walks the narrow floor;

Sullenly sits, blank walls before;

Despairing stands.

Life calls her, Duty, Pleasure, Gain—

Her dreams respond;

But the blank daylights wax and wane,

Dull peace, sharp agony, slow pain—

No hope beyond.

Till she comes a thought! She lifts her head,

The world grows wide!

A voice—as if clear words were said—

“Your door, O long imprisonéd,

Is locked inside!”