The dark trees shivered to behold
Another day begin;
She, being hopeless, did not weep
As the grey dawn came in.
IN AUTUMN.
FRAIL autumn lights upon the leaves
Beacon the ending of the year.
The windy rains are here,
Wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.
Here in the valley, mists begin
To breathe about the river side
The breath of autumn-tide.
The dark fields wait to take the harvest in.
And you, and you are far away.
Ah, this it is, and not the rain
Now loud against the pane,
That takes the light and colour from the day!
ON THE ROADS.
THE road winds onward long and white,
It curves in mazy coils, and crooks
A beckoning finger down the height;
It calls me with the voice of brooks
To thirsty travellers in the night.
I leave the lonely city street,
The awful silence of the crowd;
The rhythm of the roads I beat,
My blood leaps up, I shout aloud,
My heart keeps measure with my feet.
Nought know, nought care I whither I wend:
’Tis on, on, on, or here or there.
What profiteth it an aim or end?
I walk, and the road leads anywhere.
Then forward, with the Fates to friend!
’Tis on and on! Who knows but thus
Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?
Adventures to the adventurous!
Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:
O what have the hours in store for us?