Monday, August 9, 2010

Poetry 19

I keep finding poems I like lately. I like this one for the rhythm and for the interesting picture of death as a destination.

by Christina Rossetti

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
      Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
      From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
      A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
      You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
      Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
      They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
      Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
      Yea, beds for all who come.

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