THERE'S a lane through grassy meadows, There's a turnpike to the sea, There's a trail across the mountain Which is very dear to me. There's a shady, quiet roadway On the border of the town; There are footpaths going blithely Up the little hills and down. And oh! I love the highroads My happy feet have pressed. But walk at evening, walk at morn, There's one I love the best. It is a narrow city street That clambers with a will Between two ragged cliffs of brick Upon a windy hill. I see it from my window, I watch it every day Slope to the level sky-verge Whereon it melts away; While etched across the picture Stands straight and strong and tall, The oak tree that I planted When I was very small. Above, a narrow sky-way The houses frame for me; Beyond, across the city -- Though I can hardly see -- I know the blue bay opens, With towering blocks between; I feel, I smell, I hear it When winds blow east and keen! And I have dwelt here always; A child I saw it climb, The quaint, forgotten byway, Unmarked by change or time. How often have I trod it! Each brick and stone I know! Each little rise and hollow Though hidden under snow. And looking from my window I almost think to see A childish figure climbing -- The little shade of Me. But as I watch her, smiling -- The child who once was I -- My Fancy climbs the little hill And merges in the sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMIGRATION by LISA DOMINGUEZ ABRAHAM BROKEN MUSIC by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 23. AL-KHAFIZ by EDWIN ARNOLD THE TRAGIC MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS: 1 by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY |