"Night-refuge, set aloft this travelled hill, 'Tis deemed by many a lodger but an inn; Others look round them better and scarce fill Their first cup ere its mystery doth begin, And they are led by some divine desire, Where, midmost of an inner room, there bends Clear flame on golden altar, to which fire A wide-eyed vestal changelessly attends. And most, so led, have joy to serve that light And with the jealous priestess vigil keep; But woe to any wearying neophyte, And woe to him who serves with eyes of sleep: To such is she more bitter than to those On whom, unlit, her doors forever close!"
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"Life's Tavern" in The City: A Poem Drama: and Other Poems (1905), p. 107
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Arthur_Upson
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Arthur Upson
Arthur Wheelock Upson (10 January 1877 – 14 August 1908) was an American poet.
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