The Goat Paths

I

The crooked paths

Go every way

Upon the hill

— They wind about

Through the heather,

In and out

Of a quiet

Sunniness.

And the goats,

Day after day,

Stray

In sunny

Quietness;

Cropping here,

And cropping there

— As they pause,

And turn,

And pass —

Now a bit

Of heather spray,

Now a mouthful

Of the grass.

II

In the deeper

Sunniness;

In the place

Where nothing stirs;

Quietly

In quietness;

In the quiet

Of the furze

They stand a while;

They dream;

They lie;

They stare

Upon the roving sky.

If you approach

They run away!

They will stare,

And stamp,

And bound,

With a sudden angry sound,

To the sunny

Quietude;

To crouch again,

Where nothing stirs,

In the quiet

Of the furze:

To crouch them down again,

And brood,

In the sunny

Solitude.

III

Were I but

As free

As they,

I would stray

Away

And brood;

I would beat

A hidden way,

Through the quiet

Heather spray,

To a sunny

Solitude.

And should you come

I'd run away!

I would make an angry sound,

I would stare,

And stamp,

And bound

To the deeper

Quietude;

To the place

Where nothing stirs

In the quiet

Of the furze.

IV

In that airy

Quietness

I would dream

As long as they:

Through the quiet

Sunniness

I would stray

Away

And brood,

All among

The heather spray,

In a sunny

Solitude.

— I would think

Until I found

Something

I can never find;

— Something

Lying

On the ground,

In the bottom

Of my mind.

Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.