Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE TURN OF THE ROAD, by JANE BARLOW Poet's Biography First Line: Where this narrow lane slips by Last Line: At the turn of the road.' Subject(s): Footprints; Roads; Solitude; Time; Travel; Paths; Trails; Loneliness; Journeys; Trips | ||||||||
Decepiaque non capiatur. WHERE this narrow lane slips by, All the land's breadth, over-glowed Under amplest arching sky, Seems a secret meet to keep For these hedged banks close and high, Till the turn of the road. Then a curve of sudden sweep Lone and green the countryside, Like a cloak, with scarce a fold, And the white track's dwindling thread, Lies in basking beams dispread: You may look out far and wide From the turn of the road. There's a gleam of rusted gold, And a blink of eave-stained wall, Up the lane a rood or so, Where a thatched roof huddles low; And a day will seldom fall But its mistress, bent and old, Rime-frost hair and little red shawl, Through her black-gapped doorway fares, Very frail and meagre and small, And the years' unlifted load With a faltering foot she bears 'Twixt the tall banks to and fro; But her steps will ever stay Ere the turn of the road Never reach it; you might guess That they halt for feebleness, Till you hear her story told. For she says: 'The children all Are a weary while away. Years long since I watched them go 'Twas when dawn came glimmering cold Round the turn of the road. And I'm lonesome left behind; Yet time passes, fast or slow, And they're coming home some day; They'll come back to me, they said: Just this morn that's overhead It might chance, for aught I know. 'And that's always in my mind, For I dream it in my sleep, And I think it when I wake, And when out of doors I creep Towards the turn of the road, Then a step I hardly make But I'm saying all the while, Ere another minute's gone I may see them there, all three, Coming home, poor lads, to me, Round the turn of the road. 'But a stone's throw further on, If I'd creep to where it showed Like a riband stretched a mile, And the longest look I'd take Saw naught stirring on its white, Sure my heart were fit to break. 'So or ever I come in sight, Home I set my face again, Lest I'd lose the thought that's light Through the darksome day. And then If I find the house so still That my heart begins to ache, And a hundred harms forebode, Ere my foot is o'er the sill, I can think I needn't fret, If they're maybe near me yet At the turn of the road.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD, WHAT'S THAT NOISE? by RICHARD HOWARD LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO RIVERS INTO SEAS by LYNDA HULL DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE ONE WHO WAS DIFFERENT by RANDALL JARRELL THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES TO H. B. (WITH A BOOK OF VERSE) by MAURICE BARING A CURLEW'S CALL by JANE BARLOW |
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