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Full Online Book HomePoemsBallade Of The Pipesmoke Carry
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Ballade Of The Pipesmoke Carry Post by :marke60 Category :Poems Author :Bert Leston Taylor Date :October 2011 Read :2467

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Ballade Of The Pipesmoke Carry

The Ancient Wood is white and still,
Over the pines the bleak wind blows,
Voiceless the brook and mute the rill,
Silence too where the river flows.
Still I catch the scent of the rose
And hear the white-throat's roundelay,
Footing the trail that Memory knows,
Over the hills and far away.

I have only a pipe to fill:
Weaving, wreathing rings disclose
A trail that flings straight up the hill,
Straight as an arrow's flight. For those
Who fare by night the pole star glows
Above the mountain top. By day
A blasted pine the pathway shows
Over the hills and far away.

The Ancient Wood is white and chill,
But what know I of wintry woes?
The Pipesmoke Trail is mine at will--
Naught may hinder and none oppose.
Such the power the pipe bestows,
When the wilderness calls I may
Tramping go, as I smoke and doze,
Over the hills and far away.


Deep in the canyons lie the snows:
They shall vanish if I but say--
If my fancy a-roving goes
Over the hills and far away.

(The end)
Bert Leston Taylor's poem: Ballade Of The Pipesmoke Carry

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Post-vacational Post-vacational

You have heard that mildewed story, That tradition horned and hoary, That it wearies one to roam, Past a doubt; That one vainly on vacation Tries to find recuperation, Till he hunts his happy home Tuckered out. That abroad there is no comfort, That a man must journey home for 't--

My Lady New York My Lady New York

My Lady New York
O siren of tresses peroxide, And heart that is hard as a flint, Blue orbs of complacency ox-eyed, That light at the mark of the mint, Ears only for jingle of joybells, A conscience as light as a cork-- You are wedded to follies and foibles, My Lady New York. True, you have (not enough, tho', to hurt you)