Part 3 — THE GOOD INN
Reading edition
From "The Inn of the Silver Moon."
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.
Ah, hurrying Sirs, Drive deep your spurs, For it's far to the steepled town— Where the wallet's weight Shall fix your state And buy for ye smile or frown. Through our tiles of green Do the stars between Laugh down from the skies of June, And there's naught to pay For a couch of hay At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
You laboring lout, Pull out, pull out, With a hand to the creaking tire, For it's many a mile By path and stile To the old wife crouched by the fire. But the door is wide In the hedgerow side, And we ask not bowl nor spoon Whose draught of must Makes soft the crust At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
Then, here's to the Inn Of the empty bin, To the Host of the trackless dune! And here's to the friend Of the journey's end At the Inn of the Silver Moon.
Herman Knickerbocker Viele [1856-1908]