A Roadway

304 of 424 · 1 min of reading

Let those who will stride on their barren roads

And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads,

Unheeding, as they struggle day by day,

If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray:

For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks,

The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks,

A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay,

A pause to pick a flower beside the way.

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End of part 304 of 424