Classic Poem

The great ship furrows a silent sea,
And wakens the blue to flame,
But at morrowdawn will her track be gone,
And the waters flow on the same.

The great ship looks with a thousand eyes
In the blue eye of the bay.
But never a gleam of their golden dream
Slips down in the sea to stay.

The little cart hath a creaking sound;
And moves like a thing asleep.
But it leaves a trace, on the road's white face,
That many a year shall keep.

O tide of leaves, in the moaning eves,
Wash down through my broken door;
For there's a road in the heart of me
Where a wheel shall pass no more.

There are kings who yearn for a greater throne,
And peasants who would be crowned.
But I'd rather the long, white road, alone,
Than ride in the great ship's sound.