Enough Rope/Paths
Paths
I SHALL tread, another year, Ways I walked with Grief,Past the dry, ungarnered ear And the brittle leaf.
I shall stand, a year apart, Wondering, and shy,Thinking, “Here she broke her heart; Here she pled to die.”
I shall hear the pheasants call, And the raucous geese;Down these ways, another Fall, I shall walk with Peace.
But the pretty path I trod Hand-in-hand with Love,—Underfoot, the nascent sod, Brave young boughs above,
And the stripes of ribbon grass By the curling way,—I shall never dare to pass To my dying day.