What care if the day
Be turned to gray,
What care if the night come soon!
read more

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.

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?

Souls of poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
read more

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

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

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

You may go to Carlisle's and to Almanac's too;
And I'll give you my Head if you find such read more

You may go to Carlisle's and to Almanac's too;
And I'll give you my Head if you find such a Host,
For Coffee, Tea, Chocolate, Butter, or Toast;
How he welcomes at once all the World and his Wife,
And how civil to Folks he ne'er saw in his Life.

Now musing o'er the changing scene
Farmers behind the tavern screen
Collect; with elbows idly press'd
read more

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.

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.

Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he read more

Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.

Where'er his fancy bids him roam,
In ev'ry Inn he finds a home--
. . . .
read more

Where'er his fancy bids him roam,
In ev'ry Inn he finds a home--
. . . .
Will not an Inn his cares beguile,
Where on each face he sees a smile?