Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ROAD, by OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ROAD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: On gilead road the shadows creep
Last Line: So dear is that before.
Alternate Author Name(s): Burke, Fielding
Subject(s): Nature; Roads; Paths; Trails


ON Gilead road the shadows creep;
('Tis noon, and I forget;)
By Gilead road the ferns are deep,
And waves run emerald, wind-beset,
To some unsanded shore
Of doe and dove and fay;
And I for love of that before,
Forget the hindward way.

By Gilead road a river runs,
(To what unshadowed sea?)
Bough-hidden here,—there by the sun's
Gold treachery unbared to me.
O Beauty in retreat,
From beckoned eyes you steal,
But the pursuing heart, more fleet,
Lifts your secretest veil.

A thrush! What unbuilt temples rear
Their domes where thrushes sing!
My heart glides in, a worshipper
At shrines that ne'er knew offering,
Nor eye hath seen, and yet
What soul hath not been there,
Deep in song's fane where we forget
To pray, for we are prayer.

And now the shadows start and glide;
I hear soft, woodland feet;
And who are they that deeper bide
Where beechen twilights meet?
What trancèd beings smile
On things I may not see?
As with a dream they would beguile
Their own eternity?

I too shall find my own as they;
('Tis eve, and I forget;)
Here in this world where mortals play
As gods with no god's leave or let.
My hope in high purlieus
Desire erst lockt and kept,
On wing unbarred shall seek and choose,—
Ay, choose, when I have slept.

For happy roads may yet be long,
And bliss must sometime bed.
Fern-deep I fall, lose sight and song,
The slim palms close above my head,
And Life, the Shadow, weaves
The charm on sleepers laid
Till time's spent ghost comes not nor grieves
An hourless Gilead.

Ay me, I dream my eyes are wet;
I sigh, I turn, I weep.
Alack, that waking we forget
But to remember when we sleep!
O vision of closed eyes,
That burns the hart awake!
O the forgotten truth's reprise
For the forsaken's sake!

Far land, blood-red, I feel again
Thy hot, unsilenced breath;
Meet the unburied eyes of pain
That, dying ever, find no death;
See childhood's one gold hour
Bartered for crust and bed,
And man's o'erdriven noor devour
His evening peace and bread.

I hear men sob,—ay, men,—and shout
To souls on Gilead road:
"Tell us the way—we sent ye out—
We bought ye free—we paid our blood!"
Gaunt arms make signal mad;
O, feel the woe-waves break!
Does no one hear in Gilead?
Will one, not one turn back?

Rolls higher from the land blood-red
That sea-surge of despair!
A flame creeps over Gilead,
Unseen, unfelt by any there.
They look not back, the while
Doom shadows round them dance,
And smile meets slow, unstartled smile
As in a sleep's mid-chance.

"We give our days, we give our blood,
We send ye far to see!
We break beneath the double load
That ye may walk unbowed and free!
'Tis ours, the healing shade;
'Tis ours, the singing stream;
'Tis ours, the charm on sleepers laid'
'Tis ours, the toil-won dream!"

Dim grown is Gilead, ashen, lost
To me who hear that cry.
"Our every star is hid with dust;
The way, the way! Let us not die!"
Up from the trampled ferns,
(O Beauty's praying hands!)
I stricken start, as one who turns
From plague's unholy lands.

Pale is the dream we dream alone
An unresolving fire,
Till beacon hearts make it their own
And men are lit with man's desire.
I mourn no Gilead fair,
Back to my own I speed,
And all my tears are falling where
They sell the sun for bread.

Mine too the blow, the unwept scar;
Mine too the flames that sere;
And on my breast not one proud star
That leaves a brother's heaven bare.
Life is the search of God
For His own unity;
I walk stone-bare till all are shod,
No gold may sandal me.

I come, O comrades, faster yet!
For me no bough-hung shade
Till every burning foot be set
In ferns of Gilead.
The old, old pain of kind,
Once mine, is mine once more;
And I forget the way behind,
So dear is that before.





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