I walk on, through the
rustling grasses, through
the young corn stalks
greening in the sun; I
walk through the lands
of peace and plenty, of
the harvest, and the
crackling hearth; but I
tarry not in the lands of
men, and walking,
wander on.
I come at last to a stony
stream, laughing in its
bed, in its swift-water
way, and see beyond the
Greenwood fair, full
flowering scented in
the breeze.
Stepping then, through
the sun-bright stream,
heedless of the wet, of
the chill water running,
I cross, and pass from
light to shade, to the
leafing-realm, and the
calls of spring, joyous
borne, on the scented
wind.
And I pass, silent, in that
dawning spring, to lose
myself, and the marked
way; to slip the hold,
to wander free.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
I walk on, through the
rustling grasses, through
the young corn stalks
greening in the sun; I
walk through the lands
of peace and plenty, of
the harvest, and the
crackling hearth; but I
tarry not in the lands of
men, and walking,
wander on.
I come at last to a stony
stream, laughing in its
bed, in its swift-water
way, and see beyond the
Greenwood fair, full
flowering scented in
the breeze.
Stepping then, through
the sun-bright stream,
heedless of the wet, of
the chill water running,
I cross, and pass from
light to shade, to the
leafing-realm, and the
calls of spring, joyous
borne, on the scented
wind.
And I pass, silent, in that
dawning spring, to lose
myself, and the marked
way; to slip the hold,
to wander free.
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