The Merry Guide

        

         XLII

        

Once in the wind of morning

         I ranged the thymy wold;

The world-wide air was azure

         And all the brooks ran gold.

        

There through the dews beside me

         Behold a youth that trod,

With feathered cap on forehead,

         And poised a golden rod.

        

With mien to match the morning

         And gay delightful guise

And friendly brows and laughter

         He looked me in the eyes.

        

Oh whence, I asked, and whither?

         He smiled and would not say,

And looked at me and beckoned

         And laughed and led the way.

        

And with kind looks and laughter

         And nought to say beside

We two went on together,

         I and my happy guide.

        

Across the glittering pastures

         And empty upland still

And solitude of shepherds

         High in the folded hill,

        

By hanging woods and hamlets

         That gaze through orchards down

On many a windmill turning

         And far-discovered town,

        

With gay regards of promise

         And sure unslackened stride

And smiles and nothing spoken

         Led on my merry guide.

        

By blowing realms of woodland

         With sunstruck vanes afield

And cloud-led shadows sailing

         About the windy weald,

        

By valley-guarded granges

         And silver waters wide,

Content at heart I followed

         With my delightful guide.

        

And like the cloudy shadows

         Across the country blown

We two face on for ever,

         But not we two alone.

        

With the great gale we journey

         That breathes from gardens thinned,

Borne in the drift of blossoms

         Whose petals throng the wind;

        

Buoyed on the heaven-heard whisper

         Of dancing leaflets whirled

From all the woods that autumn

         Bereaves in all the world.

        

And midst the fluttering legion

         Of all that ever died

I follow, and before us

         Goes the delightful guide,

        

With lips that brim with laughter

         But never once respond,

And feet that fly on feathers,

         And serpent-circled wand.