Where it turns in towards the river,

Arched above with vine-growth rank,

He, dismounting, ties the horses

Near the steep and treacherous bank.

3  

More than light and shade and landscape

Meet the plainsman's searching look,

For the paths that lie before him

Are the pages of his book.

Stooping down and reading slowly,

Noting every trace around,

Of the travel gone before him,

Every mark upon the ground,

Down the winding, deep-cut roadway

Furrowed out by grinding tire,

Where the ruts lead to the water,

In the half-dried plastic mire,

He beholds the telltale marking

Of an odd-shaped band of steel,

Welded to secure the fellies

 Prev. P 29/103 next