Ина Донна Кулбрит (Ina Donna Coolbrith)

The Road to School

A MEADOW greenly carpeted;
A strip of woodland, brown and cool,
Through which the wandering pathway led
Unto the village school:

The little pathway he and I,
Across the happy summer-land,
In happy summer times gone by,
Trod, daily, hand in hand.

The mountain stream, far off, that drew
Its glittering length across the farm,
Reached softly down the vale, and threw
The path one cool, white arm;

And careless as the truant tide
That flashed its crystal in the sun,
Or slipped along the woodland side,
Our wayward feet would run.

Through tangled ferns, up furzy slopes,
Where the broad forest shadows fell,
Through golden seas of buttercups,
Wind-rippled, down the dell;

We plashed the foamy water-brink,
We followed on the rabbit's track,
And rang the merry bobolink
His saucy challenge back.

How tenderly, from stone to stone,
Where the deep stream ran swift and clear,
He led my timid footsteps on —
My gay, young cavalier!

He knew each haunt of bird and bee;
The secret of each nestling brood;
He mimicked every melody
That thrilled the listening wood;

With many a carved and quaint design,
Would fashion acorns into beads,
Chains of the needles of the pine,
And whistles out of reeds.

Ah! many a time the brave voice spake,
An earnest pleader in my cause;
The tanned, round hand went out to take
Dire strokes for broken laws;

And many a prompting, timely said,
The master's dreaded anger turned
From the small, idle, flaxen head
Whose tasks were yet unlearned!

What quaint, sweet summer gifts he brought!
A white pond-lily, filled to th' brim
With scarlet berries; buds, half shut;
Gold fruits on leaf and limb;

Some wide - blown flower with tawny dyes;
A butterfly with jeweled wing,
Or captive bird, with frighted eyes
And wee heart, fluttering.

Dear playmate! in those golden ways
Your heart found rest; my heart endures:
But, through the weary days and days,
Life gives no love like yours!

Life gives no faith! Ah, child - mate, dear,
When the appointed years shall fall
From off me, as a cloud, and near
And clear I hear the call —

And the new way is strange to me,
Reach thou, and lead me, hand-in-hand,
As down the path of old, till we
Before the Master stand!

There yet once more thy brave voice raise,
O playmate! in thy truant's cause,
For tasks unlearned, for wasted days,
For all His broken laws!

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