Onward, where through dewy grass
Slowly wading footsteps pass;
Where the daisy’s peaceful eye
Gazes trustful to the sky;
Where the river rippling by
Makes scarce heeded harmony
With the deep bell’s distant chime,
And the wandering waifs of rhyme,
Flung at random from the mind,
While the thought still lags behind,
Held in check by idle musing
Born of chance, not wilful choosing.
Now, more clear on either side,
See the meadows green divide;
Clearer lies the path before us;
Varied sounds are floating o’er us;
All the stirring noise of life,
All the ceaseless daily strife;
The larger world breaks strongly in
Where footpaths end and roads begin.