Page:Stevenson - Songs of Travel (1896).djvu/18

Rh Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;

Give the face of earth around

And the road before me.

Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me;

All I seek, the heaven above

And the road below me.

Or let autumn fall on me

Where afield I linger,

Silencing the bird on tree,

Biting the blue finger.

White as meal the frosty field—

Warm the fireside haven—

Not to autumn will I yield,

Not to winter even!

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