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Alfred Noyes - The Little Roads
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The great roads are all grown over
  That seemed so firm and white.
The deep black forests have covered them.
  How should I walk aright?
How should I thread these tangled mazes,
  Or grope to that far off light?
I stumble round the thickets, and they turn me
  Back to the thickets and the night.

Yet, sometimes, at a word, an elfin pass-word,
  (O, thin, deep, sweet with beaded rain!)
There shines, through a mist of ragged-robins,
  The old lost April-coloured lane,
That leads me from myself; for, at a whisper,
  Where the strong limbs thrust in vain,
At a breath, if my heart help another heart,
  The path shines out for me again.

A thin thread, a rambling lane for lovers
  To the light of the world`s one May,
Where the white dropping flakes may wet our faces
  As we lift them to the bloom-bowed spray:
O Master, shall we ask Thee, then, for high-roads,
  Or down upon our knees and pray
That Thou wilt ever lose us in Thy little lanes,
  And lead us by a wandering way.
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