by 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.