Uphill by Christina Rossetti......

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 when 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 that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Lone Dog

Irene Rutherford Mcleod. 1891–

164. Lone Dog

I'M a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone;

I'm a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own;

I'm a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep;

I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep.


I'll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet,

A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat,
Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate,

But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick, and hate.


Not for me the other dogs, running by my side,

Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide.
10
O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail, the best,

Wide wind, and wild stars, and hunger of the quest!