Poems (Hoffman)/Paths

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

PATHS

The mountain lifts its burly form
To Summer's sun and Winter's storm,
And gully, slide and deep ravine
Give proof of tempests that have been,
Yet Spring still clothes her slopes with flowers
And grasses bend to April showers;
Adown the mountain's sides are wound,
O'er grassy slopes and rocky ground,
From the great boulders' topmost place
To the cool lakelet at its base,
Steep hillside paths that twist and turn
Till lost to sight in rush or fern.
The deer's impatient hoof has torn
The dewy turf at earliest morn,
The sheep has trodden grass and weeds
In winding paths wher'er she feeds,
The goat has worn his narrow way
To the great boulders, grim and gray.
Two mountain paths among the rest,
One from the east, one from the west,
Wind zigzag down the steep incline
Through sapling growths of fir and pine,
Through rocky gulch and deep ravine,
O'er sunny slopes, huge rocks between,
Through laughing rivulets that play
In gladness down their shallow way,
Where tend'rest spring flowers bloom and fade,
Through light and shadow, sun and shade;
Till, nearing each the other's route
They turn abruptly now and meet
Where a great oak spreads out his limbs
And chants his breezy forest hymns;
And now together, broader grown,
Descend the mountain-side in one.
Thus, though unrealized—unseen,
Our life-paths meet and intervene,
Cross and recross in life's swift loom,
In shade and sunshine, light and gloom,
And two, beginning far apart,
Wind round the earth from where they start
Till meeting, hence through shade and sun
Two life-paths mingle into one;
Thus, through the world in devious ways,
We journey with the fleeting days;
Thus, down life's mountain path descend,
Knowing not whence our steps shall bend:
Certain of naught but that each route,
Each zigzag path, shall reach the foot.