AH, here it is! the sliding rail <br />That marks the old remembered spot,-- <br />The gap that struck our school-boy trail,-- <br />The crooked path across the lot. <br /> <br />It left the road by school and church, <br />A pencilled shadow, nothing more, <br />That parted from the silver-birch <br />And ended at the farm-house door. <br /> <br />No line or compass traced its plan; <br />With frequent bends to left or right, <br />In aimless, wayward curves it ran, <br />But always kept the door in sight. <br /> <br />The gabled porch, with woodbine green,-- <br />The broken millstone at the sill,-- <br />Though many a rood might stretch between, <br />The truant child could see them still. <br /> <br />No rocks across the pathway lie,-- <br />No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown,-- <br />And yet it winds, we know not why, <br />And turns as if for tree or stone. <br /> <br />Perhaps some lover trod the way <br />With shaking knees and leaping heart,-- <br />And so it often runs astray <br />With sinuous sweep or sudden start. <br /> <br />Or one, perchance, with clouded brain <br />From some unholy banquet reeled,-- <br />And since, our devious steps maintain <br />His track across the trodden field. <br /> <br />Nay, deem not thus,--no earthborn will <br />Could ever trace a faultless line; <br />Our truest steps are human still,-- <br />To walk unswerving were divine! <br /> <br />Truants from love, we dream of wrath; <br />Oh, rather let us trust the more! <br />Through all the wanderings of the path, <br />We still can see our Father's door!<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-crooked-footpath-2/
