The Inn

When I come back to sorrow,
The place seems very old.
Full well I know the lodging,
The meagreness, the cold;
And everything is told.

The common daily portion,
No ampler and no less;
And sorry worn the cup is
And full of humbleness:
A soul can say but, ‘Yes.’

The earthen wares are many,
But never are they new.
The one-time guest departed
The same gray service knew,
There is no change for you.