I folded away my garments of care,
I folded away my pain;
And forth I fared from the Inn of Despair,
Alone in the beat of the rain.
I was tired of the world and its tawdry gifts,
Tired of revel and fret;
And I longed for the comforting calm that uplifts
Wherein to rest and forget.
I was weary of shadows and shams that were mine,
Of the hopes that flare and cease;
And I longed for a cool, deep draught of wine
From the silver chalice of peace.
