This path will tell me where dark daisies dance To the white sycamores that dell them in; Where crow and flicker cry melodious din, And blackberries in ebon ripeness glance
Luscious enticings under briery green. It will slip under coppice limbs that lean Brushingly as the slow-belled heifer pants Toward weedy water-plants
That shade the pool-sunk creek's reluctant trance. I shall find bell-flower spires beside the gap And lady phlox within the hollow's cool; Cedar with sudden memories of Yule
Above the tangle tipped with blue skullcap. The high hot mullein fond of the full sun Will watch and tell the low mint when I've won The hither wheat where idle breezes nap,
And fluffy quails entrap Me from their brood that crouch to escape mishap. Then I shall reach the mossy water-way That gullies the dense hill up to its peak,
There dally listening to the eerie eke Of drops into cool chalices of clay. Then on, for elders odorously will steal My senses till I climb up where they heal
The livid heat of its malingering ray, And wooingly betray To memory many a long-forgotten day. There I shall rest within the woody peace
Of afternoon. The bending azure frothed With silveryness, the sunny pastures swathed, Fragrant with morn-mown clover and seed-fleece; The hills where hung mists muse, and Silence calls
To Solitude thro’ aged forest halls, Will waft into me their mysterious ease, And in the wind's soft cease I shall hear hintings of eternities.
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