Explore "The Path" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Is this the path that knew your tread, / Once, when the skies were just as blue / As they are now, far overhead?
Are these the trees that looked at you / And listened to the words you said?
Along this moss did your dress sweep?
And is this broken stem the one / That gave its flower to you to keep?
And here where the grasses knew the sun / Before a sickle came to reap / Did your dear shadow softly fall?
This place is very like, and yet / No shadow lieth here at all; / With dew the mosses still are wet / Although the grass no more is tall.
The small brown birds go rustling through / The low-branched hemlock as of old; / The tree-tops almost touch the blue; / The sunlight falleth down like gold / On one new flower that waiteth you.