THE QUESTION

Glad with the wine of life,

Reeling I go my way,

Drunk with the ache of living

And mouthing my drunken song!

Then comes the lucid moment

And the shadow across the lintel;

And I hear the ghostly whisper,

And I glimpse with startled eyes

The Door beyond the doorway,

And I see the small dark house

Where I must sleep.

Then song turns sour on my lips,

And the warmth goes out of my blood,

And I turn me back to the beaker,

And re-draining my cup of dream,

I drown the whispering voices,

I banish the ghostly question

As to which in the end is true:

The wine and the open road?

Or the waiting Door?