Classic Poem

A whitened length of grayish dust that leads
Past a rough bridge where grape-vines idly trail;
From distant woods the whistle of a quail
And butterflies that flit above the weeds.
Horizonward a bluish haze recedes
And flaunts a snowy cloud-shape like a sail;
The scent of strawberries along a swale
Comes pungently to anyone who heeds.

How slowly and how joyous passed that day,
The wayside roses climbing in a throng;
The far-brought odor of the new-mown hay
The cherries dangling as we rode along;
And cheering us along the homeward way
The sweet-wrought flutings of the robin's song!