THE ROAD

Over the moor in the velvet dusk

Mysteriously it lies.

White thro’ the heath and the swart fir woods

White‘ neath the twilit skies.

‘ Tis hid in the folds of the purple hills,

Seeking a fern-fringed burn:

But it mounts again, then is lost once more,

With a tremulous, misting turn.

Where blue mists gather beneath the moon

It shows as a silvern stream.

O Path of Life, you are out of sight,

And lost in a wistful dream.