THE MILESTONE BY THE RABBIT-BURROW

In my loamy nook

As I dig my hole

I observe men look

At a stone, and sigh

As they pass it by

To some far goal.

Something it says

To their glancing eyes

That must distress

The frail and lame,

And the strong of frame

Gladden or surprise.

Do signs on its face

Declare how far

Feet have to trace

Before they gain

Some blest champaign

Where no gins are?