“The prayer once heard is as God’s own word, / The doom once dealt abides.”

I think I may have run this for Poetry Monday before, but it struck me enough that I'm posting it anyway:


Up-hill, Christina Rossetti

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.


If I were compiling Important Beyond All This now, I might even choose this over “Goblin Market.”

---L.

Subject quote from The Ballad of Dead Men's Bay, Algernon Swinburne.