Out of the clear starlight,
Into a tunnel of night.
Muffling closie, falling steep.
Boughs stir above the place.
Unseen, leaves brush my face,
Black, remote, and deep,—
The way leads home.

Feet grip the stony slope,
The heart is warm with hope.
Fearing nought, beating gay,—
But oh, what faltering tread.
The dark how cold and dread,
Did this small crooked way
Not lead to home !