TRANSIENTS

They are ashamed who leave so soon

The Inn of Grief — who thought to stay

Through many a faithful sun and moon,

Yet tarry but a day.

Shame-faced I watch them pay the score,

Then straight with eager footsteps press

Where waits beyond its rose-wreathed door

The Inn of Happiness.

I wish I did not know that here,

Here too — where they have dreamed to stay

So many and many a golden year

They lodge but for a day.