He knocked, and I beheld him at the door-- 
A vision for the gods to verify. 
"What battered ancient is this," thought I, 
"And when, if ever, did we meet before?" 
But ask him as I might, I got no more 
For answer than a moaning and a cry: 
Too late to parley, but in time to die, 
He staggered, and lay ahapeless on the floor.

When had I known him? And what brought him here? 
Love, warning, malediction, fear? 
Surely I never thwarted such as he?-- 
Again, what soiled obscurity was this: 
Out of what scum, and up from what abyss, 
Had they arrived--these rags of memory.