The new road runs in smooth, marked lanes, Its surface gleaming white, While endless streams of speeding cars Sweep down it day and night. No trees reach out to shade its length Or pattern it with gold; Austere and straight, it runs its course, Its story plainly told. The old road, made of broken brick Embossed with worn cement, Meanders by the river-bed, A nomad, well content To loiter there beneath the elms Where rippled water gleams. I always choose the old, old road Well suited to my dreams. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON AN UNFINISHED STATUE BY MICHAEL ANGELO by GEORGE SANTAYANA OLNEY HYMNS: 35. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS by WILLIAM COWPER CLORINDA AND DAMON by ANDREW MARVELL THE RUBAIYAT, 1889 EDITION: 19 by OMAR KHAYYAM TO A PORTRAIT by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS |