The Road by Grace Ethel Martyr

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The road runs pleasantly along
   'Neath arching boughs and shady trees.
Birds sing their happy morning song
   And twilight's tranquil melodies.
The flowers are sunkissed, frail and sweet,
And warm young grass grows for my feet.

No towering mountains bid me climb
   Their snow-clad heights; no glacier bars
My path; no loft peak sublime
   Forbids my journey to the  stars,
While Death and Danger waiting there
Still challenge me to greatly dare.

No faming torrent thunders past
   The iron rocks, impetuous, swift
And uncontrolled, and laughs to cast
   The spray on high to toss and drift
And shine a moment in the sun,
A jewelled fabric, fairy-spun.

No glimpse of strange and unknown seas
   Is there, no sight of ocean blue
To draw my heart. No freshening breeze
   Sings clear of careless deeds to do
Aboard some wonder ship, with sails
Wide-spread to swift adventurous gales.

The road is shady, sheltered. Few
   Walk where, through many a quiet day,
I go, and where the evening dew
   Falls soft -- who knows but patience may
Be great as courage, and no less
Content may be than happiness?

First published in The Bulletin, 23 June 1921

Author: Grace Ethel Martyr (1888-1934) was born in Ballarat and for a time before her death in Bendigo in 1934 she was social editor of the Bendigo Advertiser.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on June 23, 2012 10:49 AM.

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