The Old Road

The old winding road creeps along through the vale
From the rim of the topping ridge;
Through dense wooded slopes and green pasture land
To God's Acre beyond the new bridge.

On a bright dewy day, it's a sylvan delight,
As it climbs around the curve of the hill,
With the little brick school in the turn of the road,
Like a pretty Swiss Chalet or Mill.

When the sun sheds vermilion, purple and gold,
And soft lights in the Gap are glowing,
The birds seek their nests, and a small screech-owl calls
While the cows in the meadow are lowing.

But it's fairest of all, on a rare winter day,
In the valley — so softly snowing —
The icicles pendant on low bending boughs,
With the blustering wintry winds blowing.