Эми Лоуэлл (Amy Lowell)

Roads

I know a country laced with roads, 
 They join the hills and they span the brooks, 
They weave like a shuttle between broad fields, 
 And slide discreetly through hidden nooks. 
They are canopied like a Persian dome 
 And carpeted with orient dyes. 
They are myriad-voiced, and musical, 
 And scented with happiest memories. 
O Winding roads that I know so well, 
 Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill! 
They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune 
 Gay as a honey-bee humming in June. 
'T is the rhythmic beat of a horse's feet 
 And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch; 
'T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze, 
 And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch.

A cow in a meadow shakes her bell 
 And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air, 
Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves 
 Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where 
 The sun splashed bright on the road ahead 
A startled rabbit quivered and fled. 
 O Uphill roads and roads that dip down! 
You curl your sun-spattered length along, 
 And your march is beaten into a song 
By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse 
 And the panting breath of the dogs I love. 
The pageant of Autumn follows its course 
 And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above.

And the song and the country become as one, 
 I see it as music, I hear it as light; 
Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone, 
 The land of desire, my soul's delight. 
And always it beats in my listening ears 
 With the gentle thud of a horse's stride, 
With the swift-falling steps of many dogs, 
 Following, following at my side. 
O Roads that journey to fairyland! 
 Radiant highways whose vistas gleam, 
Leading me on, under crimson leaves, 
 To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream. 

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