'Mid these fair slopes there lies a level lane
Unfrequented but by my haunting tread,
A lure of shade hidden from heat and rain
Vistaed by sunshine falling far ahead.

Close-planted are its walls—one of dark pine
And one of hemlock leading on to spruce;
In the brown-needled roadway sparsely shine
Small golden lights like autumn leaves let loose.

Access to Beauty beautiful should be.
Here might one linger half the summer day
Content, in coolness, and security,
And peace within the larger peace, to stay.

But the bright vista calls, to where the road
Turns leftward, leaving, past the lofty hedge,
Thick willows—for a dryad fit abode,—
One elm's perfection at the meadow's edge.

Against this green seclusion one discerns
The calm and sacred haven of my quest—
A simple wall upholding marble urns,
Their rigid flames proclaiming Life's arrest.

They look upon a sward where four might lie
Neighbors in death; but only one low mound,
Set with rare roses, tempts the passer-by
To linger near the myrtle-covered ground.

There doth the dawn suffuse with iris light
The spreading gossamer, the silver dew,
And fireflies on the threshold of the night
Flash fairy lanterns in and out of view.

There, like an airplane's rising, swift and low
The robin runs before his voyage fleet:
There winter moulds within the tender snow
Th' intaglio of the rabbit's timid feet.