The Old Road to Paradise/The Singing Wood

by Margaret Widdemer

THE SINGING WOOD

I followed far from the roadway
 After my golden ball
(How could I tell the way it went,
 Where it might lie or fall?)
And coaxing vines from the Singing Wood
 Came twining around my feet
And scent of flowers from the Singing Wood
 Oh, it was sweet, was sweet!

Once I met a satyr,
 Once I was with a faun,
Once I spoke with a woman o' doom
 Spinning from dusk till dawn,
Once I followed a will-o'-the-wisp
 Dancing along the fen . . .
Never the sun in the Singing Wood,
 Never a bird-loud glen!

All the trees were sighing,
 All of the brooks were tears,
All of the flowers were bleeding-hearts
 Scarlet with hopes and fears,
All of the vines were hands that clung
 Twisting about my heart . . .
Oh, the thorns of the Singing Wood
 Sharp they can tear and smart!

I might have won to the rainbow's end,
 But never for all o' me
Shall my feet stray into the Singing Wood
 For any fair things that flee . . .
Here on earth are the day and night,
 Human women and men—
And oh, 'tis good to be out o' the wood,
 Into the world again!