Roads
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LOVE roads:The goddesses that dwellFar along invisibleAre my favourite gods. Roads go onWhile we forget, and areForgotten like a starThat shoots and is gone. On this earth 'tis sureWe men have not madeAnything that doth fadeSo soon, so long endure: The hill road wet with rainIn the sun would not gleamLike a winding streamIf we trod it not again. They are lonelyWhile we sleep, lonelierFor lack of the travellerWho is now a dream only. From dawn's twilightAnd all the clouds like sheepOn the mountains of sleepThey wind into the night. The next turn may revealHeaven: upon the crestThe close pine clump, at restAnd black, may Hell conceal. Often footsore, neverYet of the road I weary,Though long and steep and drearyAs it winds on for ever. Helen of the roads,The mountain ways of WalesAnd the Mabinogion tales,Is one of the true gods, Abiding in the trees,The threes and fours so wise,The larger companies,That by the roadside be, And beneath the rafterElse uninhabitedExcepting by the dead;And it is her laughter At morn and night I hearWhen the thrush cock singsBright irrelevant things,And when the chanticleer Calls back to their own nightTroops that make lonelinessWith their light footsteps' press,As Helen's own are light. Now all roads lead to FranceAnd heavy is the treadOf the living; but the deadReturning lightly dance: Whatever the road bringTo me or take from me,They keep me companyWith their pattering, Crowding the solitudeOf the loops over the downs,Hushing the roar of townsAnd their brief multitude.
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