Does the road wind up-hill all the way? / Yes, to the very end.
The poem is a short dialogue between a traveller and a guide about the road of life, and the answers promise a resting place at night, an inn that “you cannot miss”. It first appeared in Macmillan’s Magazine in February 1862.
My heart is like a singing bird / Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
Remember me when I am gone away, / Gone far away into the silent land;
When I am dead, my dearest, / Sing no sad songs for me;
I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.
All the world’s a stage, / And all the men and women merely players;
Because I could not stop for Death – / He kindly stopped for me –