Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE CROOKED FOOTPATH, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE CROOKED FOOTPATH, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ah, here it is! The sliding rail
Last Line: We still can see our father's door!


AH, here it is! the sliding rail
That marks the old remembered spot, --
The gap that struck our school-boy trail, --
The crooked path across the lot.

It left the road by school and church,
A pencilled shadow, nothing more,
That parted from the silver-birch
And ended at the farm-house door.

No line or compass traced its plan;
With frequent bends to left or right,
In aimless, wayward curves it ran,
But always kept the door in sight.

The gabled porch, with woodbine green, --
The broken millstone at the sill, --
Though many a rood might stretch between,
The truant child could see them still.

No rocks across the pathway lie, --
No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, --
And yet it winds, we know not why,
And turns as if for tree or stone.

Perhaps some lover trod the way
With shaking knees and leaping heart, --
And so it often runs astray
With sinuous sweep or sudden start.

Or one, perchance, with clouded brain
From some unholy banquet reeled, --
And since, our devious steps maintain
His track across the trodden field.

Nay, deem not thus, -- no earthborn will
Could ever trace a faultless line;
Our truest steps are human still, --
To walk unswerving were divine!

Truants from love, we dream of wrath; --
Oh, rather let us trust the more!
Through all the wanderings of the path
We still can see our Father's door!





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