Volume Iii Part 81 (1/2)

But that some Fortunatus' gift Is lying there within his hand, More costly than a pot of pearls, His dullness does not understand.

And so his creature heart is filled; His shrunken self goes starved away.

Let him wear brand-new garments still, Who has a threadbare soul, I say.

But there be others, happier few, The vagabondish sons of G.o.d, Who know the by-ways and the flowers, And care not how the world may plod.

They idle down the traffic lands, And loiter through the woods with spring; To them the glory of the earth Is but to hear a bluebird sing.

They too receive each one his Day; But their wise heart knows many things Beyond the sating of desire, Above the dignity of kings.

One I remember kept his coin, And laughing flipped it in the air; But when two strolling pipe-players Came by, he tossed it to the pair.

Spendthrift of joy, his childish heart Danced to their wild outlandish bars; Then supperless he laid him down That night, and slept beneath the stars.

Bliss Carman [1861-1929]

THE JOYS OF THE ROAD

Now the joys of the road are chiefly these: A crimson touch on the hard-wood trees;

A vagrant's morning wide and blue, In early fall, when the wind walks, too;

A shadowy highway cool and brown Alluring up and enticing down

From rippled water to dappled swamp, From purple glory to scarlet pomp;

The outward eye, the quiet will, And the striding heart from hill to hill;

The tempter apple over the fence; The cobweb bloom on the yellow quince;

The palish asters along the wood,-- A lyric touch of the solitude;

An open hand, an easy shoe, And a hope to make the day go through,--

Another to sleep with, and a third To wake me up at the voice of a bird;

The resonant far-listening morn, And the hoa.r.s.e whisper of the corn;

The crickets mourning their comrades lost, In the night's retreat from the gathering frost;

(Or is it their slogan, plaintive and shrill, As they beat on their corselets, valiant still?)

A hunger fit for the kings of the sea, And a loaf of bread for d.i.c.kon and me;

A thirst like that of the Thirsty Sword, And a jug of cider on the board;

An idle noon, a bubbling spring, The sea in the pine-tops murmuring;