Poems of Sentiment and Imagination/The Country Road
THE COUNTRY ROAD.
I love to muse along the tracery
Of a provincial road. The gaudy town,
With its full streets, its busy, care-browed throng,
May furnish food, ay, ample food for thought;
But such reflections as come o'er us there
Are feverish and unhealthy. But to me
There is sweet company in the old trees
That fling their shadows o'er the sunny way;
Whose murmur of innumerable leaves,
Broken by bursts of joyous harmony,
From the gay, bright-plumed choir, or by the quick,
Low, musical chattering of the small,
And many habitants of the old wood—
To find a flower, that half-concealed by leaves,
Had bloomed unseen (so many flowers of life
Are passed unheeded by, and careless feet
Trample them in the dust); all these have tongues,
That murmur in soft discourse to the heart.
The very shadows on the dusty way,
Changeful and restless, mock the swinging boughs
That suit their motion to the fitful breeze,
And whisper music to the dream-bound soul.
But most of all, I love to notice where
The feet of other wayfarers have fallen.
Such is the willingness with which we look
Into the hearts of others, to find out
The secret of their misery or bliss;
That as I gaze upon the brief impress
Of feet whose owners I have never known,
A shadow of their character will cross
The vision of my fancy like a truth.
Deep in the dust, and almost half erased,
I see the traces of a ponderous shoe;
The wearer hath trod heavily; perhaps
Burdened with care, as wearied with the toil
Of tedious miles; for when the heart beats low
The blood flows but reluctantly, and life
Performs its functions wearily, with care.
But here, and here, a little unshod foot
Hath pressed but lightly, as with smiling eyes
And bounding heart its infant owner tripped
Laughing along, perchance to school and books—
May be to gather flowers for good grandma—
Or yet to roam in search of winter stores
Of brown, delicious nuts.
And here's a print
Of a small slippered foot, and just beside
A larger and a heavier impress.
And now the mind with fancy's pencil draws
A picture of a pair, a beautiful pair,
Of young and love-eyed beings, who, with lips
Lovely and eloquent, breathe impassioned dreams,
Fashioned in hearts filled with the loveliest
And gentlest thoughts, and told in whispered words
Inspired by scenes as full of love as is
The countenance of Nature. They have talked,
Confiding in each other, till the chain
Of subtlest sympathy that binds our hearts
Hath linked theirs in blest unison, and made
Life seem a fairy-land of light and love.
But they are gone! I now no longer see
The tracery of their footsteps; but I go
Still dreaming on; and I will have a world
Of beautiful images; and some, perhaps,
Sad, sad ones, too; but these will make the heart
More grateful for its joys, and give a shade
To the too brilliant coloring of its dreams.