Monday, July 6, 2015

Roads


I know a country laced with roads,
They join the hills and they span the brooks,
They weave like a shuttle between broad fields,
And slide discreetly through hidden nooks.

They are canopied like a Persian dome
And carpeted with orient dyes.

They are myriad-voiced, and musical,
And scented with happiest memories.

O Winding roads that I know so well,
Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill!
They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune
Gay as a honey-bee humming in June.

'T is the rhythmic beat of a horse's feet
And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch;
'T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze,
And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch.

A cow in a meadow shakes her bell
And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air,
Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves
The sun splashed bright on the road ahead
Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where
A startled rabbit quivered and fled.

O Uphill roads and roads that dip down!
You curl your sun-spattered length along,
And your march is beaten into a song
And the panting breath of the dogs I love.
By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse

The pageant of Autumn follows its course
And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above.

And the song and the country become as one,
I see it as music, I hear it as light;
Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone,
The land of desire, my soul's delight.

And always it beats in my listening ears
With the gentle thud of a horse's stride,
With the swift-falling steps of many dogs,
Following, following at my side.

O Roads that journey to fairyland!
Radiant highways whose vistas gleam,
Leading me on, under crimson leaves,
To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream.

Roads
❈  Amy Lowell 

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