THE INN

Friendship's an inn the roads of life afford

— I'll speak to you in metaphor, my friend —

And there a tired man his way may wend,

And, coming in, sit down beside the board,

Out of the dust and glare, and boldly send

For drink and victuals; haply cross his knees,

And in the cool dark parlour take his ease,

And gossip of his journey and its end.

That's friendship; there is neither right of place

Nor landlord duties, just the short hour's stay

From the sun and weariness between those kind

And quiet walls; and when the road's to face

Stony and long again, we take our way

Keeping that respite gratefully in mind.