An Old Song

Two roadways lead from this land to That, and one is the road of Prayer;     And one is the road of Old-time Songs, and every note is a stair.     A shabby old man with a music machine on the sordid city street;     But suddenly earth seemed Arcady, and life grew young and sweet.     For the city street fled, and the world was green, and a little house stood by the sea;     And she came singing a martial air (she who was peace itself);     She brought back with her the old, strange charm, of mingled pathos and glee -     With her eyes of a child in a woman's face, and her soul of a saint in an elf.     She had been gone for many a year.    They tell us it is not far -     That silent place where the dear ones go, but it might as well be a star.     Yes, it might as well be a distant star as a beautiful Near-by Land,     If we hear no voice, and see no face, and feel no touch of a hand.     But now she had come, for I saw her there, and she looked so blithe and young;     (Not white and still, as I saw her last) and the rose that she wore was red;     And her voice soared up in a bird-like trill, at the end of the song she sung,     And she mimicked a soldier's warlike stride, and tossed back her dear little head.     She had gone for many a year, and never came back before;     But I think she dwells in a Near-by Land, since song jarred open the door;     Yes, I think it is surely a Near-by Land, that place where our loved ones are,     For the song would never have reached her ear had she been on a distant star.     Two roadways lead from this land to That, and one is the road of Prayer,     And one is the road of Old-time Songs, and every note is a stair.