For a fair, smiling face, and the broad shoulders,
Burdened with straps, of one who tramped these hills
By summer, following signs. A brilliance round him,
Caused by no sun, for none came through the branches,
Struck silence from all four; until the nurse,
Nodding as if she knew him, said: “Due north,
Pilgrim, is there. Your compass—have you lost it?
Well, north is that way”—pointing—“but stand here
In patience for some seconds; then we two
Will guide you back to town for better bearing.