Always Up and Up Again

An Illustrated Poem from the Past

Most of the poems I choose are fairly blunt and direct, inasmuch as poems can be, but last week and this they are contemplating death, in it’s myriad forms, in the countless ways men and women alike have feared it and also sought it. Pretty allegories of what lies beyond the veil.

Up-Hill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for then the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at the door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labor you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yes, beds for all who come.

—Christina Georgina Rossetti