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UNDERWOODS
I
ENVOY
GO, little book, and wish to all
Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall,
A bin of wine, a spice of wit,
A house with lawns enclosing it,
A living river by the door,
A nightingale in the sycamore!
II
A SONG OF THE ROAD
THE gauger walked with willing foot,
And aye the gauger played the flute;
And what should Master Gauger play
But Over the hills and far away?
Whene'er I buckle on my pack
And foot it gaily in the track,
A pleasant gauger, long since dead,
I hear you fluting on ahead.
You go with me the self-same way—
The self-same air for me you play;
For I do think and so do you
It is the tune to travel to.
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