'And the door stood open at our feast'

UNWELCOME

Mary Coleridge

We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,

And the door stood open at our feast,

When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,

And a man with his back to the East.

O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,

The loudest voice was still.

The jest died away on our lips as they passed,

And the rays of July struck chill.

The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,

The white bread black as soot.

The hound forgot the hand of her lord,

She fell down at his foot.

Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies,

Ere I sit me down again at a feast,

When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,

And a man with his back to the East.

Hark! Who goes there?

UPHILL

by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

DOES the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

May the friends never fall out...