Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say,
‘How have ye fared?’ They answer him, the most,
‘This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the gloom
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room.’
Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard
But silence of a multitude of dead.
‘Naught can I offer ye,’ quoth Death, ‘but rest!’
And to his chamber leads each tired guest.