A road runs down through Wonder Town Where the fairies and gnomes and elves, And even little dolls and toys Are just as real as we ourselves. That road is built of songs and play, But all its traffic goes one way,— We travel that road but once. A road runs by the House of Dreams, The Sons of the Dreamers live there; Love comes over the hills at dawn And castles are built in the air; There Youth goes forth to seek his prize With torch aloft that blinds his eyes,— We travel that road but once. Would you travel those roads again, Their newness lost, their wonder fled; Their light a deep'ning shadow now Above the ashes of their dead? But they, like Eden's gates, are barred, And flaming swords keep watchful guard,— We travel those roads but once. Ahead lie new, uncharted lands Which wait the firm adventurous will, That through the sunlit hour, or dark Of pain, doth march breast-forward still; Hears not what voices sound retreat, Nor heeds the stones that wound the feet,— We'll travel that road but once. Then I shall walk unhurriedly Regretting not the days behind, Nor driven by tomorrow's need, Rejoicing if I may but find A friend to keep with me the trust On road that runs from dust to dust,— A road we travel but once. Fresh breezes from some far off sea, In time a timeless quality, A faith that in the soul abides Through endless rise and fall of tides, The very death that makes life live,— Has heaven any more to give Than roads we travel but once? |