Life's Tavern

IN this old Tavern there are rooms so dear
That I would linger here.
I love these corners and familiar nooks
Where I have sat with people and with books;
The very imperfections and the scars
About the walls and ceiling and the floor,
The sagging of the windows and the door,
The dinginess that mars
The hearth and chimney, and the wood laid bare
There on the old black chair.
The dear dilapidation of the place
Smiles in my face,
And I am loath to go.
Here from the window is a glimpse of sea,
Enough for me ;
And every evening, through the window bars,
Peer in the friendly stars.
— And yet I know
That some day I must go, and close the door,
And see the House no more.