Within.

Could my heart hold another one?     I cannot tell.     Sometimes it seems an ample dome,     Sometimes a cell,     Sometimes a temple filled with saints,     Serene and fair,     Whose eyes are pure from mortal taints     All lilies are.     Sometimes a narrow shrine, in which     One precious fare     Smiles ever from its guarded niche,     With deathless grace.     Sometimes a nest, where weary things,     And weal; and shy,     Are brooded under mother wings     Till they can fly.     And then a palace, with wide rooms     Adorned and dressed,     Where eager slaves pour sweet perfumes     For each new guest.     Whiche'er it be, I know always     Within that door--     Whose latch it is not mine to raise--     Blows evermore,     With breath of balm upon its wing,     A soft, still air,     Which makes each closely folded thing     Look always fair.     My darlings, do you feel me near,     As every day     Into this hidden place and dear     I take my way?     Always you stand in radiant guise,     Always I see     A noiseless welcome in the eyes     You turn on me.     And, whether I come soon or late,     Whate'er befall,     Always within the guarded gate     I find you all.