Cicely Fox Smith

(1 February 1882 – 8 April 1954 / Lymm, Cheshire)

Afoot - Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

Long is the road 'twixt town and town that runs,
Travelled by many a lordly cavalcade,
With trappings gay, and rich caparisons,
Jester and squire, and laughing knight and maid;
With gallant clash and stir they go their way:
I trudge afoot thro' all the drouth of day.

For me, the misty meadows fresh with morn,
The tramp thro' noontide heat to evening gray,
The far-seen smoke from the day's goal upborne,
The halt, the friendly greeting by the way,
The distant hill behind far hill descried,
The road by day, the rest at eventide.

I know each wayside wood, each moorland brown,
Each hidden byway and reposeful nook,
Where I may linger when the sun goes down,
Dipping tired feet in some cool-flowing brook;
I know the free hill and the glooming glen,
And kindly fires, and humble homes of men.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 30, 2010

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