I’M going out where breezes blowing round
Make trim kept acres look half country and half town.
Where March winds tossed and blew the leaves away
Into the fences corner yesterday.
Oaks that never dropt last summer’s leaves at all
Were coaxed at last today to leave them fall.
I’m going out to this street’s very end,
Where city atmosphere and country spaces blend,
And hear the whirring wings of lonely larks,
That circle like burnt embers o’er the park.
I’ll have my hair in torrents blowing wild
About my pallid features like some child,
That had its romping days of childish fun
Most strangled e’er they ever had begun.
I’d like to walk around a field that’s barr’d
From other pleasant places winter scarr’d.
Where drifts have filled the corners there I know
Is still a faint suggestion of late snow.
So when your luncheon hour and mine comes round,
I will have gone beyond the edge of town.
Ingleside
THE road that goes to Ingleside
Can’t be described at all,
’Tis sweet beyond the telling
And the trees are paces tall.
Spring o’ year at Ingleside
Is pungent sweet of breath.
And for its rainfilled, tumbling streams
I’m homesick unto death.
Confusing flowers fill the wood
Like nodding plumes of flame.
The like of which one’s never seen
And no one knows the name.
The hills that look on Ingleside
Are emerald to the brow.
And I would give a thousand dreams
If I could see them now.
Friendship
ONCE on a time there was a road
Went winding by my door.
And fain I was to travel it
In search of golden store.
And O! how oft with heavy heart
The weary miles I trod,
And many a sorry tale I learned
Upon the open road.