IN greybeard blossoms over the brake Hangs clematis, Autumn's feathery toy: A breeze leaps up from the shimmering lake To dapple the water with silver and gold, And whistle a melody, merry and bold; All such things are Traveller's joy. There's light hedge-maple of amber sheen (Delicate treasure without alloy), Branches of holly in crimson and green, Glistening jewel-like under the blue Of clear-swept skies that the winds renew: All such things are Traveller's joy. Woodland floors, where the storm has rained Bright fugitive gold, too brief to cloy: Misty hillsides never attained: Lingering glimpses of valley and stream, Lovely and lost as a fortunate dream: All such things are Traveller's joy. Headlands dark, in the dying sun, Gathering shades, the night's convoy, A dim, white road over regions dun: Whispers that thrill, when all men sleep, The echoing arch of the starry deep: Yea, such things are Traveller's joy. |