THE OLD ROAD DOWN TO PLYMOUTH.
The old road down to Plymouth can never change for me,
In vagabond abandon it roams a century,
Braids through the dusky mornings, and evening’s afterglow,
An irridescent sunbeam, no matter where I go.
The old road down to Plymouth leads from a farmhouse door,
Leads like a jewelled ribbon, a thousand miles or more;
The door has lost its hinges, the barn has tumbled down,
But the old road down to Plymouth, the only road in town,
Winds in and out the bluets, the butterflies and hay;
I’ve sometimes made the journey a dozen times a day.
And yonder lies the vision, a sheltered, calm retreat,
For the old road down to Plymouth is a balm for weary feet.