The Wood-Path

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THE little wood-path wandered
  Green and brown and gay
Up a hill and down a hill,
  Through a dew-wet way.

It slipped beneath the pine-trees
  Where the winds blew sweet,
Past goldenrod and feverfew
  And fields of whispering wheat;

So far and wide it wandered,
  So many a dusk-sweet way,
I thought the little wood-path
  Was guiding me astray–

But oh, the little wood-path
  It knew, it was wise,
It led me to your waiting arms,
  To your lips, your eyes!

© Margaret Widdemer