 | Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life |  |
Down a gorge led my road, and my horse carried me
On a path that the mid summer sun couldn't see,
For the hemlocks so shady, so solemn, so thick;
And night then came down ‘like a thousand of brick.’
I mean it fell heavy and dead, like a log;
The rain holding up for a down-falling fog,—
Such a fog!—Metaphysics! no scholar of thine
Was ever more mistified, reader of mine.
On a path that the mid summer sun couldn't see,
For the hemlocks so shady, so solemn, so thick;
And night then came down ‘like a thousand of brick.’
I mean it fell heavy and dead, like a log;
The rain holding up for a down-falling fog,—
Such a fog!—Metaphysics! no scholar of thine
Was ever more mistified, reader of mine.
| Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | |