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Out through the fields and the woods
Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended; I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is keeping To ravel them one by one And let them go scraping and creeping Out over the crusted snow, When others are sleeping. And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question ‘Whither?’ Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end
I have traveled through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have gone; I have climbed the hills to see far And looked at the world, then came down; I have returned home by the main road, And look, it is finished.
The leaves are all dead on the ground, Except for those that the oak is holding To untangle them one by one And let them go scraping and crawling Out over the frozen snow, While others are resting.
And the dead leaves lie gathered and quiet, No longer blown here and there; The last solitary aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel fade; The heart still longs to search, But the feet ask ‘Where to?’
Ah, when has it ever been less than betrayal For a man to go with the flow of things, To yield gracefully to logic, And bow and accept the end