The Country Road

I love to muse along the traceryOf a provincial road. The gaudy town,With its full streets, its busy, care-browed throng,May furnish food, ay, ample food for thought;But such reflections as come o'er us thereAre feverish and unhealthy. But to meThere is sweet company in the old treesThat fling their shadows o'er the sunny way;Whose murmur of innumerable leaves,Broken by bursts of joyous harmony,From the gay, bright-plumed choir, or by the quick,Low, musical chattering of the small,And many habitants of the old wood—To find a flower, that half-concealed by leaves,Had bloomed unseen (so many flowers of lifeAre passed unheeded by, and careless feetTrample them in the dust); all these have tongues,That murmur in soft discourse to the heart.The very shadows on the dusty way,Changeful and restless, mock the swinging boughsThat suit their motion to the fitful breeze,And whisper music to the dream-bound soul.But most of all, I love to notice whereThe feet of other wayfarers have fallen.Such is the willingness with which we lookInto the hearts of others, to find outThe secret of their misery or bliss;That as I gaze upon the brief impressOf feet whose owners I have never known,A shadow of their character will crossThe vision of my fancy like a truth.Deep in the dust, and almost half erased,I see the traces of a ponderous shoe;The wearer hath trod heavily; perhapsBurdened with care, as wearied with the toilOf tedious miles; for when the heart beats lowThe blood flows but reluctantly, and lifePerforms its functions wearily, with care.But here, and here, a little unshod footHath pressed but lightly, as with smiling eyesAnd bounding heart its infant owner trippedLaughing along, perchance to school and books—May be to gather flowers for good grandma—Or yet to roam in search of winter storesOf brown, delicious nuts.And here's a printOf a small slippered foot, and just besideA larger and a heavier impress.And now the mind with fancy's pencil drawsA picture of a pair, a beautiful pair,Of young and love-eyed beings, who, with lipsLovely and eloquent, breathe impassioned dreams,Fashioned in hearts filled with the loveliestAnd gentlest thoughts, and told in whispered wordsInspired by scenes as full of love as isThe countenance of Nature. They have talked,Confiding in each other, till the chainOf subtlest sympathy that binds our heartsHath linked theirs in blest unison, and madeLife seem a fairy-land of light and love.But they are gone! I now no longer seeThe tracery of their footsteps; but I goStill dreaming on; and I will have a worldOf beautiful images; and some, perhaps,Sad, sad ones, too; but these will make the heartMore grateful for its joys, and give a shadeTo the too brilliant coloring of its dreams.