The Joys Of The Road
Bliss Carman
1861 to 1929
Track 1
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The broad gold wake of the afternoon;
And oh, the joy that is never won,
A will-o'-the-wind, a light-o'-dream,
And the striding heart from hill to hill;
And two brown arms at the journey's end!
These are the joys of the open road—
In early fall, when the wind walks too;
From rippled water to dappled swamp,
The cobweb bloom on the yellow quince;
The racy smell of the forest loam,
A vagrant's morning wide and blue,
The tempter apple over the fence;
A lyric touch of solitude;
Who never defers and never demands,
And a hope to make the day go through,—
A scrap of gossip at the ferry;
With only another league to wend;
By marsh and tide, by meadow and stream,
And gave it the weight of his will for law.
But, smiling, takes the world in his hands,—
Another to sleep with, and a third
When the stealthy sad-heart leaves go home;
The palish asters along the wood,—
A comrade neither glum nor merry,
A crimson touch on the hard-wood trees;
From purple glory to scarlet pomp;
For him who travels without a load.
Alluring up and enticing down
The sound of the hollow sea's release
An open hand, an easy shoe,
The silent fleck of the cold new moon;
To wake me up at the voice of a bird;
Seeing it good as when God first saw
Now the joys of the road are chiefly these:
The outward eye, the quiet will,
From stormy tumult to starry peace;
A shadowy highway cool and brown,
But follows and follows the journeying sun,