Travel
Snowflaked angels falling lightly
In darkness of the evening stir
As I fallowed footsteps queerly
On old-fashioned horse with spur
To travel where others have been
Places where others have verified
I passed by the sleeping village
And fields frozen near by
Watched thatched roofs full of snow
Where other travelers sleeping lie
Then I rode the trodden path
Through the forest of antient blight
Into a meadow of angel buds
Blossoms of bright yellow groom
Wind stoked petals bright
Near a brook cheery and cool
I let the horse graze the land
I laid my head on soft ground
Hopping the brook will tell me
Where and why I came around
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