The Flying Inn

by Chesterton Gilbert

God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear

The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.

“My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,

Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,

But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,

And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;

For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen

Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.”

“Have you written one, Hump?” asked Dalroy. Humphrey, who had been scribbling hard under the lamp, looked up with a dismal face.

“Yes,” he said. “But I write under a great disadvantage. You see, I know why the road curves about.” And he read very rapidly, all on one note: