In Flanders Fields and Other Poems — Mine Host

Mine Host There stands a hostel by a travelled way;

Life is the road and Death the worthy host;

Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say, "How have ye fared?"

They answer him, the most, "This lodging place is other than we sought;

We had intended farther, but the gloom Came on apace, and found us ere we thought: Yet will we lodge.

Thou hast abundant room."

Within sit haggard men that speak no word, No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;

No voice of fellowship or strife is heard But silence of a multitude of dead.

"Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!"

And to his chamber leads each tired guest.