There runs a pathway by the hedge
And up across the clearing,
A ribbon through the woodland's edge,
Appearing, disappearing,
That fades beyond the hills of gray
Where red the west is burning;
And many men have passed this way,
And few who came returning.

Full many men have followed it,
The path beside the shanty;
And some there were with wealth or wit,
And some who sang a chanty;
And some were sad and some were gay,
And there were some who flattered;
Yes, many men have passed this way—
But only one who mattered.