MY POEM!!!

It is but the door that is my enemy;--
It is itself, though not a window of hope.
What's door? It is nor wood, nor space,
Nor glass, nor pane, nor any other part belonging to a window
Oh, be some other object!
What's in a door?
that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So door would, were it not called door,
Retain that dear destruction which it owes
Without that title:--door, as its name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.