by: Willa Cather (1873-1947)
- N the tavern
of my heart
- Many a one has sat before,
- Drunk red wine and sung a stave,
- And, departing, come no more.
- When the night was cold without,
- And the ravens croaked of storm,
- They have sat them at my hearth,
- Telling me my house was warm.
- As the lute and cup went round,
- They have rhymed me well in lay;--
- When the hunt was on at morn,
- Each, departing, went his way.
- On the walls, in compliment,
- Some would scrawl a verse or two,
- Some have hung a willow branch,
- Or a wreath of corn-flowers blue.
- Ah! my friend, when thou dost go,
- Leave no wreath of flowers for me;
- Not pale daffodils nor rue,
- Violets nor rosemary.
- Spill the wine upon the lamps,
- Tread the fire, and bar the door;
- So despoil the wretched place,
- None will come forevermore.
POEMS BY WILLA CATHER
"The Tavern" is reprinted
from April Twilights. Willa Cather. Boston: The Gorham