Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
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Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?

What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
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What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
We may choose the pace
Who bow for grace,
At the Inn of the Silver Moon.

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung.

In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half hung.

The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.

The atmosphere
Breathes rest and comfort and the many chambers
Seem full of welcomes.

A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.

A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.

Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket
picked?

Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall have my pocket
picked?

Along the varying road of life,
In calm content, in toil or strife,
At morn or noon, read more

Along the varying road of life,
In calm content, in toil or strife,
At morn or noon, by night or day,
As time conducts him on his way,
How oft doth man, by care oppressed,
Find in an Inn a place of rest.

There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so
much happiness is produced as by read more

There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so
much happiness is produced as by a good tavern of inn.

Now musing o'er the changing scene
Farmers behind the tavern screen
Collect; with elbows idly press'd
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Now musing o'er the changing scene
Farmers behind the tavern screen
Collect; with elbows idly press'd
On hob, reclines the corner's guest,
Reading the news to mark again
The bankrupt lists or price of grain.
Puffing the while his red-tipt pipe
He dreams o'er troubles nearly ripe,
Yet, winter's leisure to regale,
Hopes better times, and sips his ale.