by Robert Frost
It went many years, But at last came a knock, And I thought of the door With no lock to lock. I blew out the light, I tip-toed the floor, And raised both hands In prayer to the door. But the knock came again My window was wide; I climbed on the sill And descended outside. Back over the sill I bade a "Come in" To whoever the knock At the door may have been. So at a knock I emptied my cage To hide in the world And alter with age.