Classic Poem

Soft , gray buds on the willow,
— Warm, moist winds from the bay,
Sea-gulls out on the sandy beach,
And a road my eager feet would reach,
— That leads to the Far-away.

Dust on the wayside flower,
— The meadow-lark's luring tone
Is silent now, from the grasses tipped
With dew at the dawn, the pearls have slipped —
— Far have I fared alone.

And then, by the alder thicket
— The turn of the road — and you!
Though the earth lie white in the noonday heat,
Or the swift storm follow our hurrying feet
— What do we care — we two!