A Song of Far Travel

Many a time some drowsy oar from the nearer bank invited, Crossed a narrow stream, and bore in among the reeds moon-lighted, There to leave me on a shore no ferryman hath sighted. Many a time a mountain stile, dark and bright with sudden wetting, Lured my vagrant foot the while 'twixt uplifting and down-setting,— Whither? Thousand mile on mile, beyond the last forgetting. Long by hidden ways I wend (past occasion grown a ranger); Yet enchantment, like a friend, takes from death the tang of danger: Hardly river or road can end where I need step a stranger.