M.. Banner THE WAY TO ARCADY. Oh, what's the way to Arcady, Oh, what's the way to Arcady? Oh, what's the way to Arcady? Sir Poet, with the rusty coat, Quit mocking of the song-bird's note! How have you heart for any tune, You with the wayworn russet shoon? Your scrip, a-swinging by your side, If you will tell the way to tread. Oh, I am bound for Arcady, And if you but keep pace with me And where away lies Arcady, And how long yet may the journey be? Ah, that (quoth he) I do not know- My guide is but the stir to song, That tells me I can not go wrong, But how shall I do who cannot sing? Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme. 'Tis strange you cannot sing (quoth he), The folk all sing in Arcady. But how may he find Arcady What, know you not, old man (quoth he)— Ah, woe is me through all my days, Wisdom and wealth I both have got, But far away, and half forgot— Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he), But you, you fare alone, like me; The gray is likewise in your hair. Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; My true companion's Memory. With Love he fills the Spring-time air; My song goes straight to one who stands— The songs within my breast that stir Are all of her, are all of her. My maid is dead long years (quoth he), Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, To Arcady, to Arcady; Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, Where all the leaves are merry. John Burroughes WAITING. Serene, I fold my hands and wait, I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years ; My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. |