SONG OF THE HIGHROAD
Morning on the highroad leading from the plain. The yellow dust rises there and settles back again, Beggarmen and ploughmen, merry men and chill. Morning on the highroad winding up the hill. Clipper-clop, clipper-clop, the syncopated beat Of horses on the highroad drowsy with the heat, Hazy lies the hillside with not a breath to stir The far streaming hedgerows’ multicoloured blur. Dusk along the highroad; fingerlengths of shade Run to meet the shadows from each green grass-blade, Carpeting the highroad, covering its scars, Sealing all its secrets from the first faint stars. Little lanes are cool lanes, little lanes are sweet, Soft mosses grow there for travelburdened feet; But little lanes are blind lanes and fortune follows still The wide, dusty highroad leading up the hill. —'W.S.T.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SUNAK19270810.2.50.12
Bibliographic details
Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 119, 10 August 1927, Page 6
Word Count
132SONG OF THE HIGHROAD Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 119, 10 August 1927, Page 6
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