Poetry Archives

A rhyme, of good Death’s inn!
  My love came to that door;
And she had need of many things,
  The way had been so sore.

My love she lifted up her head,
  “And is there room?” said she;
“There was no room in Bethlehem’s inn
  For Christ who died for me.”

But said the keeper of the inn,
  “His name is on the door.”
My love then straightway entered there:
  She hath come back no more.