Where the Road Dips HENRY FLETCHER HARRIS

Post-Oak and hickory talk in air, And mutter where the roadway dips; And tree-toads croak; and darkness drips; And blackberries trail live fragrance there. Ragweed and horehound, sage and mint, And many a nameless herb beside, Work homely magic—at one stride The Past returns the way it went! Chuckle of water greets the ear; The light wind tries the brake and goes; Far off the summer lightning shows, But summer thunder comes not near. This tender darkness stills the heart As with old music; and the stars Drop coolness where the shadow-bars Of many branches mix and part. A voice comes on the wind-thrilled night Long drowned amid the roaring years; My eyes are stung with blinding tears, And fear and doubt dissolve in light!