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!