Where halts the trail at the clear, brown brook
A way-farer stops to rest,
While high on the hills, free-reined and fleet,
A horseman rides on his quest.
A way-farer stops to rest,
While high on the hills, free-reined and fleet,
A horseman rides on his quest.
Ah, hither and thither the travelers go,
Together or else alone,
Drifting away to haunts unseen
Like leaves in a tempest blown—
Meeting and passing as shadows cross
Or clouds a-sail in the sun,
Some with the tryst of life far spent,
Some with it just begun.
Together or else alone,
Drifting away to haunts unseen
Like leaves in a tempest blown—
Meeting and passing as shadows cross
Or clouds a-sail in the sun,
Some with the tryst of life far spent,
Some with it just begun.
A truant wind, like a troubadour,
Sings an untranslated song
As 1t follows the unforgotten track
The night and the whole day long.
Or does it echo, that wordless sigh,
The mingled laughter and tears
Of the countless hosts who have trod that way
Through the dusk of the yester-years?
Sings an untranslated song
As 1t follows the unforgotten track
The night and the whole day long.
Or does it echo, that wordless sigh,
The mingled laughter and tears
Of the countless hosts who have trod that way
Through the dusk of the yester-years?
For the long, lone road that stretches away—
A backward and onward line—
Must end somewhere out under the stars
In a hut or a gilded shrine;
But whither it leads in its ceaseless flow
The pilgrims only may see—
Or to the woe of the great, sad world,
Or straight into Arcady!
A backward and onward line—
Must end somewhere out under the stars
In a hut or a gilded shrine;
But whither it leads in its ceaseless flow
The pilgrims only may see—
Or to the woe of the great, sad world,
Or straight into Arcady!
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