THE RAMBLE

Down the road which asters tangle,

Thro’ the gap where green-briar twines,

By the path where dry leaves dangle

Sere from the ivy vines

We go — by sedgy fallows

And along the stifled brook,

Till it stops in lushy mallows

Just at the bridge's crook.

Then, again, o'er fence, thro’ thicket,

To the mouth of the rough ravine,

Where the weird leaf-hidden cricket

Chirrs thro’ the weirder green,

There's a way, o'er rocks — but quicker

Is the beat of heart and foot,

As the beams above us flicker

Sun upon moss and root!

And we leap — as wildness tingles

From the air into our blood —

With a cry thro’ golden dingles

Hid in the heart of the wood.

Oh, the wood with winds a-wrestle!

With the nut and acorn strown!

Oh, the wood where creepers trestle

Tree unto tree o'ergrown!

With a climb the ledging summit

Of the hill is reached in glee.

For an hour we gaze off from it

Into the sky's blue sea.

But a bell and sunset's crimson

Soon recall the homeward path.

And we turn as the glory dims on

The hay-field's mounded math.

Thro’ the soft and silent twilight

We come, to the stile at last,

As the clear undying eyelight

Of the stars tells day is past.