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Oliver Wendell Holmes - The Crooked FootpathOliver Wendell Holmes - The Crooked Footpath
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AH, here it is! the sliding rail That marks the old remembered spot,-- The gap that struck our school-boy trail,-- The crooked path across the lot. It left the road by school and church, A pencilled shadow, nothing more, That parted from the silver-birch And ended at the farm-house door. No line or compass traced its plan; With frequent bends to left or right, In aimless, wayward curves it ran, But always kept the door in sight. The gabled porch, with woodbine green,-- The broken millstone at the sill,-- Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the pathway lie,-- No fallen trunk is o`er it thrown,-- And yet it winds, we know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the way With shaking knees and leaping heart,-- And so it often runs astray With sinuous sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded brain From some unholy banquet reeled,-- And since, our devious steps maintain His track across the trodden field. Nay, deem not thus,--no earthborn will Could ever trace a faultless line; Our truest steps are human still,-- To walk unswerving were divine! Truants from love, we dream of wrath; Oh, rather let us trust the more! Through all the wanderings of the path, We still can see our Father`s door!
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