A Roadway
Let those who will stride on their barren roadsAnd prick themselves to haste with self-made goads,Unheeding, as they struggle day by day,If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray:For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks,The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks,A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay,A pause to pick a flower beside the way.