This room, I know, is journey's end,

This house I sought the most.

I think along the hard high-road

Somewhere I missed a post

That would have told me where to turn,

And might have saved me time

In finding windows high like these,

These crooked stairs to climb.

And I, as always from the first,

Have come the long way round

By rutted road in wind and rain,

Over the rocky ground.

And yet That heed had I of sign?

What could it tell me more,

Whose heart knows every wall so well,

And lived here long before?