The Lodging House

The Lodging House written by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

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       When up the fretful, creaking stair,
       From floor to floor
       I creep
       On tiptoe, lest I wake from their first beauty-sleep
       The unknown lodgers lying, layer on layer,
       In the packed house from roof to basement
       Behind each landings unseen door;
       The well-known steps are strangely steep,
       And the old stairway seems to soar,
       For my amazement
       Hung in air,
       Flight on flight
       Through pitchy night,
       Evermore and evermore.
       And when at last I stand outside
       My garret-door I hardly dare
       To open it,
       Lest, when I fling it wide,
       With candle lit
       And reading in my only chair,
       I find myself already there . . .

       And so must crawl down the sheer black pit
       Of hell's own stair,
       Past lodgers sleeping layer on layer,
       To seek a home I know not where.

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