They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. Yet, if you enter the woods Of a summer evening late, When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools Where the otter whistles his mate. (They fear not men in the woods, Because they see so few) You will hear the beat of a horse's feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, Steadily cantering through The misty solitudes, As though they perfectly knew The old lost road through the woods . . . . But there is no road through the woods.
-- Rudyard Kipling
Reflections
Reading
this poem gives you that mystic feeling, of a road closed long ago,
among the wooded forest, where there still lingers that haunting rider
and his lady love. Splendid poem. Very haunting and full of mystery. I
wonder, when in some quiet and remote travel spot, you might see some
road winding through a forest, remember this poem. It might add that
aura of the unknown seeing you through hidden eyes.
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