Tag: Theodosia Garrison

From The Birmingham Age Herald, December 29, 1914. By Theodosia Garrison.

Sleep at the Inn o’ Dreams—
    A kindly host he waits,
And all night long a goodly throng
    Comes softly through his gates.

A varied company—
    Scholar and clown and king,
Or prince or priest, or great or least,
    He gives them welcoming.

For each he fills the cup
    Where poppy petals swim,
Wherefrom each guest at his behest
    Drinks deeply, toasting him.

And old men drink of youth,
    And sad men of delight,
And weary men drink deep again
    The pulsing wine of might.

And poets drink of song,
    But best and oh, most sweet,
Above that brim where poppies swim
    The lips of lovers meet.

Sleep at the Inn o’ Dreams—
    A kindly host he waits,
And all night long a goodly throng
    Comes softly through his gates.

From The Birmingham Age Herald, November 14, 1914. By Theodosia Garrison.

The gypsies passed her little gate—
    She stopped her wheel to see
A brown-faced pair who walked the road
    Free as the wind is free;
And suddenly her tiny room
    A prison seemed to be.

Her shining plates against the walls,
    Her sunlit sanded floor,
The brass-bound wedding chest that held
    Her linen’s snowy store,
The very wheel whose running died—
    Seemed only chains she bore.

She watched the foot-free gypsies pass;
    She never knew or guessed
The wishful dream that drew them close—
    The longing in each breast
To some day know a home like hers
    Wherein their hearts might rest.