I came to the crowded Inn of Earth, And called for a cup of wine, But the Host went by with averted eye From a thirst as keen as mine. Then I sat down with weariness And asked a bit of bread, But the Host went by with averted eye And never a word he said. While always from the outer night The waiting souls came in With stifled cries of sharp surprise At all the light and din. Then give me a bed to sleep, I said, For midnight comes apace But the Host went by with averted eye And I never saw his face. Since there is neither food nor rest, I go where I fared before But the Host went by with averted eye And barred the outer door.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Kind Moon