Here down my wearyed limbs Ile lay; My Pilgrims staffe; my weed of grey: My Palmers hat; my Scallops shell; My Crosse; my Cord; and all farewell. For having now my journey done, (Just at the setting of the Sun) Here I have found a Chamber fit, (God and good friends be thankt for it) Where if I can a lodger be A little while from Tramplers free; At my up-rising next, I shall, If not requite, yet thank ye all. Meane while, the Holy-Rood hence fright The fouler Fiend, and evill Spright, From scaring you or yours this night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EVANGELIST'S WIFE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SIXTEEN DEAD MEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE PRIESTHOOD by GEORGE HERBERT SEA SLUMBER-SONG by RODEN BERKELEY WRIOTHESLEY NOEL AUTHOR TO HIS CHILD by FRANCES AIRTH POEM FOR PICTURE: TO AN OIL PAINTING BY WINSLOW HOMER (DRIFTWOOD) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. QUATORZAINS: 9. TO MY LYRE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND WHO DIED ON SABBATH MORNING by ELIZABETH BOGART |