Welcome! Enter ! This is the Inn at the
⁠Cross Roads,
Sign of the Rising Sun, of the World's End:
Ay, O Wanderer, footsore, weary, forsaken,
⁠Knock, and we will open to thee—Friend.

Gloomy our stairs of stone, obscure the portal;
Burdened the air with a breath from the further shore;
Yet in our courtyard plays an invisible fountain,
⁠Ever flowers unfading nod at the door.

Ours is much company, and yet none is lonely;
Some with a smile may pay and some with a sigh;
So all be healed, restored, contented—it is no matter—
⁠So all be happy at heart to bid good-bye.

But know, our clocks are the world's; Night's wings
⁠are leaden,
Pain languidly sports with the hours; have
⁠courage, sir!
We wake but to bring thee slumber, our drowsy syrups
⁠Sleep beyond dreams on the weary will confer.