Charles Erskine Scott Wood

THE ROBIN is out in a speckled vest

And his day is a day in June.

Oh, what cares he for the old dead nest?—

October will give him a new red breast

And April the old, old tune.

O road, road, whither will you take me?

What is ’round the bend?

Will you make me or break me?

And will the day forsake me

Before I reach the end?

O road, road, whither are you flowing

So far, so far, so far?

Is any knowing where you are going—

Through woods and up the hills to where is showing

On the world’s edge a star?