dying at the door

the knuckles are weary and sore
stranded at the entrance into the door
hope has shut you out ,and faith-
in discourse also can be a bait

who is the cruel gate-keeper
that tightens the twist on the knob
you have endured miles to reach there-of
that naught is linient enough to release love

a journey-man with his load , and tidings
a top his head , in cold bitter await
and his medal for all his troubles-
is neither here nor there ; or double

somes gates are a shield to restrain encroaching
though the motiv of the traveller is sure
but reaches the goal only to find
that the aim has tricked his state of mind