Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/54

 "Shall we smooth the path before you,
 * You old grey man?

Sprinkle it green with gilded showers, Strew it o'er with painted flowers, Lure bright birds to sing and flit In the honeyed airs of it? Shall we smooth the path before you,
 * Grey old man?"

"O, 'tis better silence, silence,
 * Ye three wild fiends!

Footsore am I, faint and weary, Dark the way, forlorn and dreary, Beaten of wind, torn of briar, Smitten of rain, parched with fire: O, silence, silence, silence,
 * Ye three wild fiends!"

It seemed a smoke obscured the air, Bright lightning quivered in the gloom, And a faint voice of thunder spake Far in the lone hill-hollows — "Come!" Then, half in fury, half in dread, The fiends drew closer down, and said:

"Nay, thou stubborn fond old man,
 * Hearken awhile!

Thorn, and dust, and ice and heat, Tarry now, sit down and eat: Heat, and ice, and dust and thorn;