 | The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road |  |
235
ON THE FARM.
With his boyhood who would be?
Back with friends so long apart!
Friends!—an oldtime company—
There to gossip, heart to heart,
Of the days that used to be!
Back with friends so long apart!
Friends!—an oldtime company—
There to gossip, heart to heart,
Of the days that used to be!
With his boyhood who would be?
Home again, without a care?
Talking low and pleasantly
Of the things Life has to dare
In the days that are to be?
Home again, without a care?
Talking low and pleasantly
Of the things Life has to dare
In the days that are to be?
There the boy that used to be
Listens still with eyes like wine
To the tales of Faëry,
By the hearth-stone's crackling pine,
As in days of used to be.
Listens still with eyes like wine
To the tales of Faëry,
By the hearth-stone's crackling pine,
As in days of used to be.
With that boy who would not be
Back upon the road that leads
To the house beneath the tree,
Where Youth dreamed of mighty deeds
In the days of used to be?
Back upon the road that leads
To the house beneath the tree,
Where Youth dreamed of mighty deeds
In the days of used to be?
Oh, my Heart! again to be
Back upon the oldtime farm,
Where Ambition gallantly
Wooed Achievement; took her arm,
Left the farm and poverty,
Back upon the oldtime farm,
Where Ambition gallantly
Wooed Achievement; took her arm,
Left the farm and poverty,
236
And Content!—Ah me! to be
Listening to the stories told
'Round the hearth's felicity,
In the winter's snow and cold,
While the wind roared in the tree!
Listening to the stories told
'Round the hearth's felicity,
In the winter's snow and cold,
While the wind roared in the tree!
There was comfort!—Let it be!
Gone the house with open door!
Gone the peace and—poverty!
And the friends we knew of yore
In the days of used to be!
Gone the house with open door!
Gone the peace and—poverty!
And the friends we knew of yore
In the days of used to be!
My old Heart, come, let it be!
Let us seek some place to hide
Far away from memory,
And the dreams that still abide—
Dreams of days that used to be.
Let us seek some place to hide
Far away from memory,
And the dreams that still abide—
Dreams of days that used to be.
| The Poet and Nature and The Morning Road | |